


Irisana

by lookingfordonut



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Elemental Magic, F/F, F/M, Female Harry, Friendship/Love, Hogwarts First Year, M/M, Other, Synesthesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:00:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6826402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingfordonut/pseuds/lookingfordonut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuck between what they say and what she sees, Amelia Potter is a little smarter and a lot stranger than the Girl Who Lived you expected. (AU, magical synesthesia.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

> _mere color, unspoiled by meaning, and unallied with definite form can speak to the soul in a thousand different ways._
> 
> _-_ oscar wilde.

* * *

 

She likes the Colors.

Five years old and the size of a baby doe, the little girl likes the Colors that always seem to float in the air around her.

Of all the menial treasures in her life, her two and three quarter toy soldiers and half of a purple crayon, the Colors are her favorite. She’s seen these Colors, learned their shapes and language, since before she could speak. She likes to play, to reach out and swipe her hand through them, watching them fracture, melt and reform into their nature _._

Girl knows her aunt, uncle and cousin cannot see the Colors. She tried to show them once, reaching up to touch Dudley’s eyes and turn on the light switch only she could see…before being unceremoniously shoved away. She knows they think she is odd, abnormal, _a_ **_freak_** _— you little mutant bitch, shut up, don’t_ touch _him with your filthy little paws—_

The child spends days and days locked up after that. Curled up on her tiny dirty cot in the Cupboard Under the Stairs, she dances her hands in the air, watching them smear glowing orange, then red, then yellow in the air. A spiral of soft baby blue curls away from the rest and lifts of tuft of her downy black hair off her eyes…Girl giggles softly and wraps it around her finger gently, feeling it warm against her just slightly. _Her affection, **returned**._

After a while, her stomach grumbles and clenches with hunger. Tears well up in her eyes. When was the last time they gave her food?

The beautiful Colors, they notice her pain. A shift in Their mood, like tasting a shimmer of tanginess. Girl knows, she is sure, _so sure_ , no matter if no one can see them but her, those Colors they can feel and think just like her. They are her best friends…her _only_ friends. Her lip quivers. Her eyes flick when she sees the colors move from their usual places curling around her arms towards her belly.

For a fraction of a moment, the glow turns into a soft green song and suddenly it doesn’t hurt anymore and she whispers in a voice too tired for someone so young—

_“Thank you.”_

 

 


	2. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia Potter has perceptions shattered in multitudinous ways.

Amelia loved the scent of London.

It was hard gray and cold rain and the creaky ache of an old city.

When Dudley had collapsed that morning after consuming hot peanut brittle, which he knew he was deathly allergic to, Amelia had been a bit peeved by it. She was first shouted at for letting Diddykins eat the biscuit. Never mind the fact that she was _a ten-year-old_ who was _frying bacon_ on an appliance _taller than her._ Also never mind that his _father_ was sitting _not three feet away_.

She was then shouted at to leave the house and pick up Dudley's uniform for Smeltings Academy from London.

_Blessing in disguise._

Amelia knew roughly where she was going because Aunt Petunia, nose high in the air and lips pursed, had deigned to mention the neighborhood and the shop's name before she left with Dudley for the hospital. As she walked, she knew she must have looked very strange. Tiny with bright green eyes and a mop of messy black hair she kept short because she liked what one kindergarten teacher had called it, a _pixie cut_.

Most of all, though, Amelia caught passersby looking at her with one main question in their eyes: _what was such a young thing doing_ _ **alone**_ _in Big Bad London?_

They didn't know Amelia was never alone.

The distant sound of jazz echoed in the Tube station. Amelia's whole being immediate perked up and she raced through the concrete tunnels to find the source.

A minute or two later, Amelia found what she was looking for.

A trail of orange and blue bubbles in the air, leading her to a wrinkly old man holding the golden instrument to his lips and _generally being_ _ **the awesomest**_ _and most_ _ **amazing**_ _person in a five-kilometer vicinity_. She listened, enraptured, as he produced bubbling, playful tunes. She watched as those tunes danced out of the horn, bubbling orange and blue brooks and gold streaming ribbons filling the hallway. Amelia wanted to jump and dance and generally behave like a nut in front of the stranger, but chose instead to just smile hugely and nod her head along off beat.

Then the song was over. Amelia watched as the Colors dissolved and vanished into nothingness.

Moving from where they usually sat, twined around her own arms, her own Colors reached out to touch a soft light orange bubble and reel it in with thin arms. Her grin turned into a softer smile and Amelia reach out her hand to let the Blue reel in the orb. Just as her fingers brushed it and she felt a peculiar warmth in her gums, it melted away.

That was Amelia's gift, that was the reason Amelia Potter could never be alone—she had, if nothing else, _Colors_.

"Are you lost?"

The man with the trumpet was giving her and her outstretched hand a funny look.

She shook her head. "My parents are just around here."

Never advisable to tell adults the truth.

Skipping away and up the stairs with a crowd of people, Amelia pulled the crumpled paper she'd scratched the address on. Numbers always looked strange to Amelia and the _507_ looked like a lurchy green and yellow.

Half an hour later, Amelia was at the department store front desk asking about the Durselys order.

"They sent _you?_ "

Amelia, sparkling master of the Art of Untruth, replied, "Oh, they're just a few streets away! They just sent me here and we'll all go home together in Uncle's red car." She added a big cheesy smile on at the end for extra believability.

The lady peered at her uneasily but nodded her head slightly in assent. "Just wait here, I'll grab it," she said. Amelia heard her muttering as she walked away. "A _child…_ roaming _London_ …unbelievable…bloody daft…"

Amelia waited, bouncing on her heels. She'd been unusually restless lately. Distracting herself, she looked around the huge store. She liked the plum accents. Purple, to Amelia, was definitely something Holy.

As if responding to her thoughts, her Colors shifted to shades of the blue-red color. She looked down at the centre of her chest, the hub of the warm sentient energy that she loved so dearly. It was thrumming a lively dark dancing _violet._ Unlike all other Colors she'd seen, in names or numbers or sounds, her own Colors were never still.

Lilac rivulets rested around her wrists like bangles and Amelia giggled as Colors began doing a wiggle up and down her forearm. Another instance showing her that the source of restlessness was probably the pent up energy her Colors seemed to be hiding. What could make her Colors, neither substance nor non-substance, gain this kind of momentum? What could affect the alien particles? Amelia loved reading books on the Mysteries of Physics but her primary school library was limited. She knew _atomis_ were at the centre of all being…electrons spun around them. Energy could only be transferred. Other Colors? But did the rule of matter not being created or destroyed apply to Colors? Was this a growth thing—

A squeak behind her interrupt her thoughts.

Outside of the window was a man in a _**bright. purple. dress**_.

…Angel.

He must be an _angel._

Uniforms and Counter Ladies abandon, Amelia sprinted to the window and skidded the corner toward the door. The man, who had been opening the door at that exact moment, slammed the 4'6 girl right off her feet.

" _MISS POTTER!"_

" _MA'AM!"_

The two shrieks echoed through the empty store but Amelia was okay, she'd landed in a pile of women's knickers. Her Colors, as usual, were also there to protect her (Purple Almighty, she knew she would probably be dead without them by now...seeing as Dudley existed and Vernon persisted).

"Are you alright, young ma'am?" the Counter Desk Lady asked worriedly, helping her out of the clearance box.

Amelia plucked a yellow thong off her head and stared at it curiously before it was quickly snatched and thrown off. Mr. Purple Angel was also peering at it, but also _at her_.

"Miss Potter, I am of the utmost embarrassment! By Merlin, I didn't mean to bump into you so! And you are such a small little thing, you just went—" He made a _whoosh_ arm gesture.

He had the highest voice she'd ever heard on a man.

Amelia, however, was occupied by other things about him.

He _had Colors of his own_.

Bright sunny yellow and sky blues basically rose like the sun and sky, shining out of his body in _springs. Springs!_ Feathering his core were hints of pink and a _tease_ of purple shadowing every facet.

_He. Was._ _**Magnificent.** _

Amelia realized she must have been staring, open mouthed. Mr. Purple probably took this _total and complete and oh my gOD this is_ _ **AMAZING**_ awe for anger, however, and bowed deeply in parting. "I'll leave you now, Miss Potter. Again, so sorry, didn't realize, should be off. Ta!"

And, with another bow, he was gone.

Amelia could not put in to words how she felt at that exact moment. So she turned to Counter Lady and said, "Well. Angels, must be busy people. Are the uniforms ready?"

And that was how Amelia Potter met her first wizard.

* * *

_To Miss Amelia Dorea Potter_

_Cupboard Under the Stairs_

_Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey._

Wide green eyes stared at green ink, then narrowed.

Who knew she lived in the Cupboard Under the Stairs? Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were very careful to always pretend Dudley's second bedroom was hers whenever guests were over. Also, green ink? Green ink was suspicious. And her middle name was _Dorea?_ Seeing as Aunt Petunia never, well, said anything ever, this was news to Amelia. _Amelia Dorea Potter._ Amelia was almost fanatical in her belief in names. Names and birthdates.

_Amelia Dorea Potter._ It was _perfect_. Her parents—

Her parents.

She literally shook the thought out of her head before it could sadden her. Focusing on the letter, Amelia wasn't sure if she wanted to open it.

"Girl! Where is our bloody post?"

Shuffling towards the kitchen, Amelia laid down the other letters, stilling staring at (contemplating) her own. She was just about to send a vine of Color to poke at it when—

" _Dad!_ The freak is stealing our _post!"_

_Oh, Diddykins,_ Amelia cheerfully thought. _One day, I will damn you to a pit of brown and yellow 233s and then I will drown you in ketchup._

A hammy hand clamped down on her shoulder and the letter was abruptly yanked from her hands.

Amelia gritted her teeth and turned slowly to her Uncle, who's voice often cause her to see splotches of brown and hear walrus noises. "It's mine. It has my name on it."

Uncle Vernon slipped on his reading glasses and peered down his nose and three chins. As he read, his face went from pink to red to purple. Amelia tilted her head and looked on curiously. Would he turn blue? Explode? Explosive diarrhea, maybe?

"Petunia!" he barked. "Come here."

Aunt Petunia, alarmed by her husband's reaction, walked behind him. A plate slipped from her hand fell to the floor and shattered.

Both her Aunt and Uncle were staring, horrified expression on their face, at the front seal of the envelope.

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

* * *

"I'm a _what?"_

"Yer a witch, Amelia!"

A giant man had lumbered through the door of Hut on the Rocks.

Now he was telling her she was a witch.

"Like…" Amelia didn't really know where to even start with a statement like that. "Wand waving, pointy hat witch?"

Hagrid, the name of the huge man, nodded vigorously. "Think abou' i', Amelia. Ever made anythin' happen by acciden'? Somethin' ye can' explain?"

Amelia looked down at her hands and the intricate glowing lines of her Colors. She then looked back up at Hagrid and saw something of a shadow of Color, a dark green and brown, tucked under the hugeness of his natural presence—

"That's _enough!"_ spit Vernon, from where he was cowering on the staircase. "When we took the brat in, we swore we'd put a stop to this nonsense!"

" _You knew?"_ Amelia's brain, poor little thing, was having a few foundational values complicated.

"Of _course_ we knew," sneered Aunt Petunia. "My parents were so _proud_ when my perfect little sister got her _letter_. We had _a witch_ in the family. How _marvelous._ "

A tinge of neon green edged the sound of Petunia Dursley's voice. Was that _jealousy?_

"Then she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with _you!_ "

"Blown up?" Amelia's Colors were currently doing a siesta up and down, from her head to her toes, the color of blood and roses with electric blue thrown in. " _Blown up?_ Are you going to finally tell me the truth then? Not your usual spiel about drunk driving and a car crash?"

Amelia couldn't be lied to. Lies smelled like cigarette ash and fresh lemon.

" _Car crash? James and Lily Potter, killed in a car crash?!"_

Mr. Hagrid the Huge really didn't like that.

Somehow in the face of that thundering anger, Vernon still managed to grunt threateningly. "She's not going. That's final."

Hagrid thought this was amusing. He snorted, "An' I suppos' a great Muggle like yerself is gunna stop her? Ye better give this up, Dursley, or it'll be Albus Dumbledore and not me who visit ye next."

Aunt Petunia paled like a ghost. Uncle Vernon wasn't so deterred. "Get _out!_ I won't have anymore of this. Get _out_ and tell that _barmy lunatic_ who runs the school never to knock on our door again!"

Hagrid the Huge really, _really_ did not like that.

His face darkened into a scowl and his Colors ached with a sudden dark burgundy.

"Don't you ever, _ever_ insult Albus Dumbledore in fron' o' me."

A pink umbrella was pulled out of the giant man's giant coat pocket and _spark._ Pink sprinted through the air and hit Dudley smack on his bottom.

Screeching commenced. There, dead center on Dudley's bum, a pig's curly tail.

Amelia's mouth fell out. At this point, she was either going to laugh hysterically or fall over.

"Alrigh'. Well, we best be off, Amelia."

Now she had to _leave_ with him? Staring at the hand held out to her the size of her torso, Amelia just had a few question first.

"Er...where would we be going? Will we be back? When is your birthday, by the way, and also what's your full name—"

Hagrid looked...well Hagrid didn't know how to look. Then he pat her tiny head with his giant hand gently and said, "I promise I'll answer all yer question while we're flying. I promise ye, we're only going shoppin' then I'll bring ye back to this lot."

" _Flying?_ You _flew?_ On what? _BY FIONA, YOUR MOTORBIKE HAS_ _ **COLORS**_ _, GOOD GOD IN A PURPLE HANDBASKET—_ "

Amelia's brain decided to fall over at this point.

* * *

"Diagonal Alley?"

" _Diagon_ Alley."

"Diagon? Two agon? Diagon _ally_?"

"Fer the sake o' Merlin's left hairy buttock—"

"—means _struggle or contest_ , so naming your marketplace 'two struggles and slash or contests' that just doesn't seem very _welcoming_ , yknow, names being important for _welcome_ —"

Hagrid had not expected Amelia…to be quite as…

"—Of course, maybe it's like _agon_ in reference to athletics and chariots and stuff so that's a little bit brighter. Or is it a _pun_ —"

"Amelia, it's called Diagon Alley an' tha's tha'. Here we are now, Leaky Cauldron." He seemed eager for the tiny child to stop talking. They pulled up in front of a dingy old pub (having landed _from the_ _ **sky**_ _because they were_ _ **flying on a motorbike**_ )about twenty minutes ago.

Amelia crawled out from where she was basically buried inside the sidecar about three times too big for her. Hagrid helped her out and handed her rucksack to her, making it look tiny in his huge hands. It occurred to Amelia how strange she and Hagrid must look together, with her reaching his hip and all.

The door squeaked as Hagrid pushed it open and Amelia got her first look at the Wizarding World.

Dust. A lot of dust. And dresses. _Everyone here was wearing dresses too!_ Hope rose in Amelia that she could maybe, one day, see—

" _Mr. Purple Angel!"_

—Amelia was gasping. Like _fate_ , there he stood, tiny in comparison to everyone else ( _she could empathize_ ), decked out in his purple regalia, looking like the sun shining through the clouds on a rainy day—

Hagrid looked down, completely baffled. Whilst everyone else in the pub was looking at Amelia like she was a revelation, but Amelia was staring at Dedalus Diggle like he was the Merlin himself.

"...I suppose ye've met Mr. Diggle before?"

Amelia nodded her head slowly.

"Miss Potter! What a pleasure to reunite! So sorry again about last time. Not my greatest moment—"

Amelia wasn't really listening though. His Colors, there they were, just as bright and springy as ever. But as Amelia finally looked around her, she saw something _even. crazier._

**_Every single person in the room had Colors of their own._ **

Granted, some were tinged a little differently, like Hagrid's, but it was almost blinding to look across the room. A man in the corner, grey and green. A woman at the bar, red and slick. The man behind the bar, thick and brown.

She…she'd never…what… _how_ …

"Miss Potter? Miss Potter, are you alright?"

Amelia blinked and focused back on Mr. Purple. The truth was she was squinting and looking a bit odd.

"Uh—"

She noticed more people had joined them.

"Bless my soul, it's _Amelia Potter!_ "

"Such an honor, Miss Potter, such an honor—"

"How'd ye do it, little lass? How'd ye—"

Hagrid cleared his throat very loudly and gave the last man a _shut-up-right-now_ look. "We'd best be off now. Lots te do, ye know. Tom, great t' see ye!"

And then he hauled a semi-mute Amelia off towards the back room.

"Ye never told me ye'd met Dedalus Diggle—"

" _Dedalus Diggle?_ His name is _Dedalus Diggle?!_ "

Just when she thought Mr. Purple Angel couldn't get any better, he got _even better_.

"Well, ye don' have te say it like tha'. Bit of an oddball, ole Diggle is but a nice feller, good friends with Headmaster Dumbledore—"

Amelia shook her head rapidly. "No, Hagrid, _I think that's the best name I've ever heard._ I—Hagrid, I have to see Diggle the Purple Angel again! I must. Hagrid, _I must._ "

At that moment, Hagrid finally realized how out of his depth he was.

"Er, o' course. Send him an owl, if ye like—"

"What, like a present? Would he like that?"

"Oh, no, forgot ye don't really know these things. Owls are how wizards send 'round their post."

" _Owls?_ Uh—"

Hagrid looked relieved this wasn't followed by a half a million questions. In fact, he looked down at the young girl in relief but then saw her looking very, very alarmed.

" _Hagrid_ , _what in the name of the LILAC SPLATTERED UNIVERSE is **BEHIND THAT**_ _ **WALL**_ _?"_

* * *

Amelia was going to need to invest in some sunglasses.

Serious sunglasses.

Heavy duty, as-close-blackening-out-the-world-as-possible sunglasses.

She had been walking for the last ten minutes with one hand clutching Hagrid's arm and the other clamped tightly over her own eyes.

Hagrid was growing more and more concerned as the minutes passed.

"Amelia, wha's wrong? Are ye crying, lass? I thought ye would be excited—"

Quickly seeing the misunderstanding taking root, Amelia came to a stop somewhere on the cobblestone street. For the first time in almost eight years, Amelia considered telling some about the Colors she could see and feel. Would Hagrid believe her? The Dursleys never did…then again they turned out to be lying sacks of poop.

"Hagrid…do you think we could go somewhere, er, darker? Just for a moment?"

And so they went, to a small alleyway where Hagrid's huge body and muted, soothing greens and browns blocked out the blazing, blinding calamity that was Diagon Alley.

And, as simply as Amelia could, Amelia explained.

Hagrid was so out of his league.

So, so out of his league.

Hagrid looked away from his own shock and confusion. He looked down to the little girl who'd just shared her deepest secret and saw something different. She was…unsure. "Do you believe me, Mr. Hagrid?"

And Hagrid understood. This little strange girl was reaching out to him, going completely against everything she'd known so far from adults.

"O' course, I do," he answered gently. "O' course."

And he clasped her hand and placed her hand gently on her eyes again. "Looks like I'll be leadin' ye around then, til we find some o' those sunglassy?"

And that's when Hagrid saw Amelia Potter give him her first true smile, the one she reserved for little spiders she saved from the rain or homeless trumpet players in the Tube.

And he was done for.

* * *

"Wait so you're telling me goblins are real and they run a _bank_?"

Apparently they were in front of Gringotts, a huge and fancy white marble Wizarding bank at the end of Diagon Alley.

"Yep. Nasty little buggers, goblins…greedy like ye've never seen. Never wanna ge' on the wrong side o' a goblin, Amelia. Never."

Amelia frowned a little. People were quite greedy too…

"And they have those magic sticks too, to control their Colors?"

Hagrid's explanations had been better than he'd thought. Apparently her Colors were _magic_. Amelia personally thought that was an empty statement, she'd definitely need to investigate further into the nature of this _magic._ But it was a start.

"Nah, Ministry don' allow other magical creatures te have wands— watch yer step, we're comin' up on some stairs."

Amelia's frown deepened. "Sounds pretty racist to me."

"Race wha'?"

"Muggles, they hated people because of their skin colors. Called racism. Whole thing lasted four or five hundred years…anyway, sounds like stick wavers are doing the same thing! But you know, with other sentient species."

"Nah, ye don't know goblins, Amelia. Bloody thirsty, they are— anyway, I should shut up now. Let's go get ye a few dimes te start shoppin', right? I think yer alright te take off yer blindfold now, we're not near many witches o' wizards anymore." Hagrid helped her untie her the strip of clothe he'd ripped from the bottom of his coat.

Amelia opened her eyes once more and was greeted by Colors again, but not of the eyes-burning, migraine-inducing variety. Goblins felt more solid, stoic and unmoving. Their magic felt like a _grinder_ , like the tugging of an iron pulley. It also looked a lot darker en masse—mostly different shades of grey and black, with occasional brown.

The building itself was made of creamy marble and fancy chandelier and mahogany lengths. Sat high above Amelia, goblins busied themselves with gold, silver and bronze coins.

As they approached the main desk, Amelia peered at the head Manager curiously. As they came closer, she noticed the patterns. Goblin Colors, it seemed, were more about the fine detail. Like magnificent embroidery, their magic was cut deeply with swirling, repeating beautiful patterns, like fine black jewelry.

"Here te access Amelia Potter's vault, please," Hagrid proclaimed.

A hush fell over the entire bank. Amelia felt every eye in the room pin itself of her.

Her Colors, which had been rather frazzled and slow today, what with all the mind-blowing revelations, wrapped themselves around her tightly and warmed significantly. Amelia, while a curious and chatty girl to some, was definitely, _definitely_ not the kind to bask in en masse attention.

Amelia tucked herself more closely into Hagrid's side, hoping his hugeness would shield her. Also, what? She had a vault? She had money?

"Yes…of course…" the head Manager finally replied. "Key?"

"Oh, I've got it here. Also…the key for you-know-what, for you-know-who. Dumbledore's orders."

"Yes indeed. Griphook will attend to you. Griphook! Vault 687 and 713. Good day, Rubeus Hagrid. Goodbye, Amelia Potter."

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a continuously outrageous fashion.

Most notably, Amelia learned why she was a celebrity, gained another companion and set Ollivander's Wand Shoppe on fire.

* * *

"I'm the _what?_ "

"Girl Who Lived, they call ye. Chosen one. Defeater of Darkness."

"I was _one_! My parents were _murdered_!"

"Sensitivity…not the Wizarding strong suit. They celebrate ye, Amelia. To them, during that First War, they needed a miracle and ye gave them one."

"I was _one_. And what kind of name is _Lord Voldemort_ anyway? A tacky one."

Hagrid jerked, sloshing his pint all over himself. Several people nearby, obviously eavesdropping, gasped. The waitress dropped her tray.

"I…er, ye shouldn'…say…He…um…Dumbledore, yknow…"

Amelia thought these wizards were an overly superstitious, rather irrational bunch.

* * *

" _Humanss, ssuch imbecilesss…lassst time I ever agree…free foodsss they sssaid…it'll be funnn to be a pet, they sssaid…"_

Amelia was in Flourish & Blotts, blindfold off for the second time that day, in the History aisle when she heard the soft, sarcastic voice.

" _I ssshall avennge my fallen dignnnity…and eat asss manyyy bloody birdss as a I bloody pleassse…"_

Amelia followed the sounds and poked her head over a short chest of old magical romance novels. Behind the box, a small blue snake was curled up against the wall. It looked up at her and she swore it rolled its eyes.

" _Annnother human girl-child…Bob wonderss will ssshe ssscream like the othersss…"_

Amelia just tilted her head quizzically. "Your name is Bob?"

The snake jerked in surprise. " _Girl-child speaks the tonnngue?"_

"Er. Sure. Do you need help getting out of there?"

" _Yesss, small one. Lift me ssso we may sspeak faceee…to faceee…"_

Amelia was dubious. "I don't usually say this…but I really don't think I'm the small one here."

She reached down and lended a hand. As the serpent wrapped himself around her palm and forefinger, he raged. _"Insssults! More insssults! I shall…I shall…I shall curse you, girl-child! I ssshall make you ssquirt urine from your eyeeeballsss!"_

Again, unlikely. But she supposed being polite was important. "Er…sorry, then. Wouldn't want that. But your name? Bob? You're sure?"

He gave her the stink eye. " _I am Bob, son of Psyrana and Tchandran…I was named after the ruler and king of all this universe!"_

"…Bob?"

" _Yesss. Now, girl-child, take me to some mice. Possst-hasssste!"_

"Can't really help there, to be honest. I've got to buy books first."

" _Inssssolence! I demand mice!_ "

"Er…"

" _Place me upon your ssshoulder. I ssshall help you buy your booksss…bloody ussseless though they aree…then you will find me a_ _ **feasssst**_ _!_ "

"Er, we can share my lunch, if you like…"

He looked at her appraisingly. " _Lunch, you say? The daytime human meal?"_

"Yep. Do you like potatoes?"

The snake looked displeased. _"I enjoy ssssmall birdsss and rodentsss. Find me a ssparrow and there may be hope for you yet, girl-child. I will accompany you hencceeeforth."_

And that's how Amelia got a pet snake named Bob.

* * *

"I leave ye alone for _five minutes_ and ye find a baby magicoluber constrictor and _befriend it?_ "

This oddity of hers he could relate to. So Hagrid shook his hairy head and laughed heartily. "At least the lady at Magical Menagerie was glad te have gotten rid o' him…escaped and ate all her baby owls, he did. And while it's normal to have a cat, toad or owl, I don' think anyone's gonna mind ye havin' the blue lil' guy so long as you get him te behave…"

Bob sniffed, affronted. _"I am no babeeee…and 'behavee myssself'…like I'm sssome common houssehold garterr!"_

Amelia pressed her lips to hold back her giggle. While her first interactions with Bob the III were a little…well, how people probably reacted to _her_ , the sarcastic serpent had become a fast friend since.

"Anyway. Las' task o' the day! Ollivander's! Te get yer wand, Amelia!" Hagrid said, excitedly.

Amelia was very curious about this magical stick business, so she was indeed excited. Blindfold was back on so she couldn't see the shop, but a slow growing taste of bark and spice in her mouth hinted that they were getting close.

The jingle of a bell as they entered the shop and the smell of old parchment, mixed with dust and a sharp earthy spice tingled on her tongue. The Colors, she could already tell, were strong in this shop.

"Hagrid, I think I'll be okay without the blindfold here."

"Ye sure? Ollivander's is pretty high, magic-wise, in Diagon Alley…"

"Mmm…but it feels different. Tastes more like."

Hagrid shrugged and began untying. "Whatever ye say."

"Amelia Potter…" came a whisper.

Just as the cloth fell, an old wizened face invaded her vision.

Ginormous yellow eyes blinked owlishly. "…I've been expecting you, Miss Potter."

Amelia looked interestedly at the wandmaker. His _eyes_ were imbued with yellow, misty Color. The only area concentrated with the yellow mist other than his irises were his hands. His hands looked like were gloved, yellow mist clinging to the skin until his wrist.

"Rubeus Hagrid…" Those strange yellow eyes moved from her to her companion. "16 inches, oak, am I correct? Rather bendy. Snapped 1943…"

A bit shamefaced, Hagrid nodded. "I think I'll jus' wait fer ye outside then, Amelia. Good seein' ye, Mr. Ollivander sir."

Yellow Eyes nodded absentmindedly. He was now staring rather intently at a spot in the ceiling.

"If you could give me your dominant hand and arm, Miss Potter, we may begin…"

Much measuring later, Yellow Eyes Ollivander began to hand wand after wand to Amelia.

Wands, Amelia noted, were soft to the touch. Depending on the wand, it could feel cold, prickly, hot…the wands had gentle Color of their own, rather more tactile than visual, and varying temperament. A _feeling_ object. To be honest, it felt a bit rude to Amelia to call wands objects. They were more like… _lite_ _beings_. Their Colors were extremely subtle and almost seamlessly joined to the fabric of their wood, but they were there.

"Picky customer, eh? Not to worry, not to worry…I wonder…" the old man slipped away for a few moments, come backing with a white box.

"Holly, 11 inches, phoenix feather. Nice and supple."

This wand felt rather tender. Amelia reached out her hand and felt warmth bloom through her hand. The Color at the centre of the wood glowed a gold-red and she waved the rod, showering the air with sparks.

"Curious…very curious…"

To be honest, Amelia kind of tuned Mr. Yellow out at this point because something was happening with her wand and her body. Specifically, her forehead where one very lightning-shaped scar of Doom resided.

See, since Amelia had first looked in a mirror, Amelia knew that there was something very, very _wrong_ about the scar on her forehead. A green malignant light always seemed to seep out of it like pus. It was the main reason she, a, avoided mirrors like the plague and, b, had never not had a fringe.

The wand in her hand was warming in her hand, its own magic climbing up her arm rapidly and burning her body as it chased its way towards her scalp and then—

A crack like a gunshot. Everything in a two-meter radius burst into flames. Her scar throbbed.

The wand in her hand was ashes.

* * *

"I've never seen such a thing…fine one minute and melted into ash in _her hand_ the next…"

Hagrid had burst in as soon as he'd heard the noise. There, Amelia stood, surrounded by flames, Bob hissing viciously while hiding in her hair and Ollivander flabbergasted.

"Accidental magic, perhaps? It was a very strange wand for her to bond with, perhaps her core perceived it as a threat—"

"It was my scar." Amelia's voice was uncharacteristically grim.

"Yer scar, Amelia?"

She closed her eyes and nodded. Pushing up her fringe, she exposed the pink jagged cut in her temple. "When the wand tried to…connect with me, the Color—magic—in my scar reacted."

No one spoke. Except Bob.

" _You are a very ssstrange human, girl-child…"_ Amelia grimaced in response. The wand…it felt like her scar had _killed_ it. _Murdered it._

"I might…I might have something."

Ollivander led Amelia and Hagrid to the backroom. A darkened space, there was only one small desk lamp and one huge black wardrobe.

Ollivander pulled out three keys and complicatedly clicked open the front of the closet. Amelia could only watch as the black giant unfolded into many black compartments and a smooth central surface. Ollivander clicked open the central trunk with his last key and colors _whooshed_ upon release, lighting up the shadowy room.

"Come, Miss Potter." Only his yellow eyes could be seen from this angle.

Amelia stepped forth, peering into trunk.

"You…can see magic, can you not? It touches you in ways it does not touch me or Mr. Hagrid."

Amelia shrugged. "I call them Colors."

Ollivander gave her his first smile. Crooked and just as misty as his magic.

"Look at the Colors in this chest. It is the wand that chooses the wizard, Miss Potter, but for you, we might need a more…bilateral approach."

Amelia understood when she peered into the chest. In the top-left quadrant, there was tiled wood, fifty different types at least, each emitting a particular scent. In the top-right quadrant, there were molds; some longer and wide, some shorter and thinner. Bottom-left, bottled liquids, colored from palest pink to midnight blue. And in the last corner, the barest quadrant, laid down three materials: uncut phoenix feather, raw dragon heartstring and a pale unicorn tail hair.

"I will be creating your wand here for you, with your help."

Amelia, who had been rather quiet and questionless for a while, couldn't help the flood of wonder that bubbled up in her. "Are there…only these possibilities? Like, could magical scales or a different type of hair not work? My hair? And those liquids, what—"

Hagrid grunted in amusement. Obviously, the solemn mood broke when Amelia Potter's curiosity came a-calling.

Ollivander answered her questions to the best of his ability. "These are the only wand constituents that I work with. See, wandmakers also need to have a certain…suitability to the materials they combine. There should be a bond and trust with the traits they curate. It's rather a lot like forming a child…I never forget a single wand. Trying to expand to foreign substances, I tried once in my youth…it lowered the quality of my wands exponentially. They were incredibly weak or volatile and generally unusable. Also, human hair is dead particle."

Amelia absorbed this, like a sponge. She nodded her head and opened her mouth to continue—

"I admire your inquisitive nature, Miss Potter, and I would be happy to answer your questions but we should continue on," he gently interrupted her. "Let us start with wood. Reach in your hand. Run it over the samples. Look carefully. Tell me if anything…feels."

Amelia nodded and reached a hand towards the top-left. Her fingertips gently ran over the coarse, the smooth. Her Colors, she saw were inching forward nervously, running over the timber. Finally, near the bottom, Amelia came across something.

A dark brown wood, wilder than the others, rather _uncut_ , leapt like a heartbeat under her touch. Her own colors shifted very slowly into a darker and darker brown and, like a first conversation, the two magics timidly twirled and then clicked into sync. The hard magic leaning inside the wood softened just enough for Amelia to know this was right.

"Greenheart wood? How _interest_ ing…yes, quite interesting, quite interesting indeed…" Ollivander carefully pulled out the tile, revealing a foot-long branch. "Greenheart wood is the strongest wood in the world, Miss Potter. Terribly difficult to mold or cut, which is why I think I've only ever sold about two wands made of it…The trees rarely have any fallen branches."

Amelia reached out to run a lax hand across the bark. It tingled her palm.

"Now, onto the mold. You don't have to worry with this part, Miss Potter, I'll handle this." Tapping a finger against his lips, Yellow Eyes looked at the lengths and sizes. His gaze flicked quickly between the greenheart branch and the quadrant for a few minutes. Hagrid and Amelia waited in silence.

Then, it seemed he had come to some kind of conclusion because Ollivander pulled out two molds. Both on the smaller side, one a rather jagged, ziggy shape and the other smoother but curving into loose spirals at the handle. Ollivander laid now the greenheart wood on the central surface, laying the two molds on either side. He tilted his head back, then forth. Squinting forward, then leaning backwards. He even reached out one hand to wrap his finger around the circumference of the branch and twist his fingers left and right. Lips pursued.

He turned to Amelia. "Do you have any opinions, Miss Potter? Both molds are feasible, but I can't quite…seem to…grasp the current?"

Amelia's mouth curled in nervousness. But she leaned forward. For some reasons, she _sniffed_.

The bark smelled like fresh moss and…was that _blood?_ For some reason, Amelia was sure, the jagged cut would bring out the _blood_. _Not necessarily bad._ Absentmindedly touching her scar, she let her eyes drift to the softer cut. A warmth blossomed and the smell of grass. _It would balance._

"That one," Amelia said simply, pointing at the smoother mold.

Ollivander nodded his head and busied his hands by putting the wood and mold aside. "12 inches, shapely but stubborn."

He gestured to the liquids next. "Maturation of wands is an _extremely_ rare process. Usually, it is for woods that need a bit of…softening. As you might agree, your wood will probably need it. I won't explain which liquid is what. Your magical sight should guide you and biases can be poisonous here."

Hagrid, behind her, finally made a noise. "Bu' wha' if—"

"Do not worry, Mr. Hagrid. Trust me, I would not ever jeopardize Miss Potter's magic."

Well, that was an awfully morbid statement. Amelia gave the liquids a look of wariness before letting her Colors take the first step. Her hand hovered over the third section, her Colors blooming from her palm like a massive flower, reaching out to simultaneously push into several bottles. There was _nothing_ subtle about these liquids.

One bottle of black sent a massive chill down her bones. Another pinch of yellow caused her to jump. Citrus made her eyes burn. Twisty bottle of blue had Amelia giggling madly. Pink made her a bit lightheaded.

Finally, her magical retreated and reformed into a single, tightly wound thread. It reached out, with her hand, to touch a beautiful soft lilac. This time, the reaction was a _bling_ , then gentle ringing in her ears that echoed down to her toes.

She plucked the vial gently and lifted it to her eyes. Lilac basing, but there, deeply inside the waters, shimmers of plum.

Amelia sighed happily. "I love the color purple."

Bob, who had gone to sleep for most of this ' _wisshy-wassshy wizard nonssense_ ', as he called it, perked up his head. " _Good choiceee,"_ he murmured.

Ollivander looked relieved and Hagrid, too. "Albino _Naga_ venom, female. You are a most peculair witch, Miss Potter. That is potentially the rarest sample I have ever procured."

" _Naga_ are a magical breed o' snake from northeast India, Amelia," Hagrid explained. "There used to be a lo' more but they're worshipped as gods by some folk, so many were killed a few hundred years ago by Muggles tryna shut down the religion." Hagrid shook his head in sadness. "Bloody horrible loss. Their venom is dead useful."

Ollivander nodded along. " _Naga_ are strongly associated with water. The female _Naga_ are called… _Nagini._ But the albino female _Naga_ …she is a _Kadru._ "

Bob was hissing contentedly. _"Thisss is true. That her venom chossse you iss mossst wonderousss. I choossse you well, my human._ "

Amelia rolled her eyes. "Of course you would take all the credit, Bob."

Hagrid yelped from behind her. Ollivander almost dropped the venom.

" _Yer a parseltongue?_ "

"Yes…that would about explain it…"

Amelia didn't know what to say. She'd been able to speak to snakes since she was young. She remembered once having a great conversation with a bored boa constrictor at the zoo.

Hagrid explained this was a very, very uncommon ability. "It would be fer the best if ye kept it under wraps…rather infamous ability…not that it makes you any kind of wrong!" he backtracked quickly from the look on Amelia's face.

Ollivander nodded his head. "It is not a bad thing, Miss Potter. Worry not. Just…surprising. Still better a parseltongue and have some _Kadru_ venom than that Dementor's blood. Now shall we move on to our final stage?"

Amelia turned to the final step.

"This is perhaps the trickiest stage in wandmaking, Miss Potter. Finding a wand core that binds the materials, that opens up the sum of its parts to give the wand its birth…it is most, most difficult. But, with your sight, I feel we might be able to…speed up the process."

Ollivander clicked a button and the fourth quadrant rose up from the chest, and _click-click-click_ opened up to reveal three additional compartments filled with multiples of three main cores.

"The wand your scar reacted so intensely to…well that is a long story. Safe to say, that would be the _only_ phoenix feather I think would have been able to work for you. Take a look at the unicorn hair…it could be a good match."

Amelia peered into the middle compartment. Silvery, glowing and a slight taste of sugar. Unicorn hair…felt nice. But not right.

The red and orange strings from the right-hand box mostly made her feel mildly sick though. She looked away. Heartstrings. _Dead dragons. Chests cut open, hearts unbound from flesh and scale._ It just wasn't—

Something caught her attention.

Something from one of the other compartments, completely away from what Ollivander was offering. Off to the right, a drawer one up from the bottom. A tugging. A pull—

"Miss Potter?"

She had moved unconsciously. "T-there's," she cleared her throat. "There's something in this drawer."

Ollivander looked on curiously but allowed it. He pulled open the black drawer and there, in a corner in a stoppered vial, was her core.

Mr. Ollivander laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

Hagrid looked concerned.

Yellow Eyes took a deep breath and shook his head. "I should've known, you see. You, Miss Potter, are bound to a life…quite unlike all others. Quite unlike."

He lifted the glass vial with the blood red string. This string didn't make Amelia feel sick for some reason. Just _warm, a hot, wet heat, powerful and_ _ **raging**_ _—_

"This is a dragon heartstring of a dragon that is still alive."

" _Wha'_?" Hagrid looked like someone had just slapped him.

"A young dragon, on the verge of death, required a quite simple but rather _strange_ procedure. One of the chambers of her heart had been infected. The dragon tamers of that colony actually had to recruit a Healer to perform the surgery. She performed a kind of bypass surgery and as she was doing it, the infected heartstring fell away. She gently cleaned out the chamber and the heartstring. Still imbued with magic, the string healed away its own infection. It actually began growing a bit out of control, as it was still quite _alive_. Once the dragon grew another, it calmed a bit. This is that same dragon heartstring and it has been sitting in this drawer for the last ten years. It grew quieter, as the dragon aged I assume, but it still more alive than all my other heartstrings combined. I never considered actually using it, as it is rather... _extreme_.

"But you, Miss Potter…your wand would do well with a live dragon heartstring. Your wand would bond with it quietly cleanly."

Amelia looked on excitedly. "Will I be able to watch as you make it?"

Hagrid answered this for her. "Nah, Amelia, we'd best get goin' now. Wand forging is an even longer process. Could you deliver it te Professor Dumbledore, sir? He'll have it te her at Hogwarts?"

Ollivander nodded sagely. "For this wand, Miss Potter…it could cost you around 27 galleons. But instead if you promise me to come visit me every year, to report you experience and keep me updated on its on-goings, I would give it to you free of charge."

The taste of lemon. A hint of smoke.

_Why was Yellow Eyes lying?_

Amelia knew better than to believe anything in life was free. She had learned that well from the Dursleys.

"Er…" Hagrid thankfully took up this conversation for her. "I think we'll jus' pay yer price, Mr. Ollivander."

Amelia nodded her head. Ollivander laughed.

"Alas. Do visit, anyway…I shall promise in return to answer any and all question on wandlore. You, Miss Potter…you are on quite the path."

Amelia grinned sheepishly at Hagrid, knowing he'd know she'd never be able to resist that and he sighed. "We'll take it."

* * *

 

The longest day of her life was finally over.

In front of Number Four Privet Drive at about eight in the evening, Hagrid was making her promise several things.

"Now, be sure to keep everything packed up in yer trunk. An' no dilly dallying on September 1st or ye'll miss the train—"

"Hagrid…"

"—Platform is right between 9 an' 10. Don' worry about yer wand, it'll be ready in time for classes. Keep it under wraps tha' you had to have one made—"

"…Hagrid…"

"—An' keep bloody Bob the Blue Snake there under wraps too. I'll be waitin' at the platform at Hogwarts too, make sure ye buy her sunny glass from Muggles, if they Dursleys give you any trouble I'll—"

"Hagrid!"

"Oh." He grinned kindly. "Gotta bit away wi' myself there. Okay, I'll stop ramblin'." He gave her a huge hug and said, "Anythin' ye need, ye just ask, okay?"

She nodded happily. His Colors were warming to a chocolate brown and Amelia felt her own reacting in kind. This…was this friendship?

"Thank you, Hagrid. Thank you for everything."

He ruffled her hair. "Nothing te thank me fer, Amelia. See ye in a month!"

And so, Hagrid the Huge revved the engine of his flying motorcycle and flew off into the Surrey sunset.

* * *

 


	3. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia Potter meets people...but people also meet her.

" _Bloody hell, it's Rainbow Goggles!"_

Amelia Potter had already acquired a bit of a reputation.

Accidently.

_I mean_ , Amelia thought _, you set_ _one_ **slightly** _important pub on fire_ **once** _and suddenly you have a vigilante pseudonym?_ She knew she should have never tried to go back to stupid Diagonally.

She'd just thought, _finally_ , with her wrap-around military grade sunnies, she'd maybe have a chance to finally _see_ the Wizarding Marketplace!

Instead she'd almost demolished it.

Bob sharply nudged her head. _"Get in that compartment and hideee before other wizzardlingss arrive._ "

Amelia grumbled at Bob, "Don't be bossy."

Marching into the small square space, Amelia slipped the door shut behind her and faced her accuser.

"What do you think you're playing at?! Don't _lock_ the door! I'm telling you, I don't have any money, you can steal this corned beef sandwich if you like, personally I hate them but—"

The orange-headed boy was a rather quirky one.

"—swear, I have five older brothers, they're right fierce and they'll avenge me—"

"Have you ever thought about dying your hair?"

Orange Head opened and shut his mouth several time. "Um…what?"

"Y'know," Amelia flick a bit of her own hair at him. "Making your hair a different color. Green, actually. Green would quite suit you."

Orange Head had a snazzy trio of green wiggles, and would look quite nice if he matched his Colors.

"You…" He really seemed to cut down on his word count, now that he didn't think she was going to rob him and scatter his limbs. "You want…me…to change the color of my hair…to green?"

From her shoulder, Bob groan-hissed. _"Mussst you do thiss to every bloody human you meet?"_

Amelia flicked Bob's head. To Orange Head, she said, "Green Wiggle, it was a suggestion not a death threat. Now listen. Happen to know any of the public purveyon me? I mean…that Leaky Cauldron business was an accident. You know that, yeah? The people know that?"

Orange Headed Green Wiggle looked like he was going green in the face. Sadly, it didn't look as good as green hair might've. "Er," he stuttered. "Er. Erm. I— erm. Yes. Sure. Why not? You…be upset…if I disagree?"

Amelia leaned in so they were almost nose to nose. Green Wiggle really looked like he was going to hurl at this point. Was Rainbow Goggles already so infamous? It was kind of amusing to be honest, because Orange Head definitely outsized her by five or six inches.

"I won't be upset." Amelia made her expression as blank as possible. "But I must ask you one incredibly important, incredibly vital, _fundamental_ question, before we progress any further in our friendshipping."

"Yes?" Amelia was a little more pleased than she should've been by his squeak.

Pulling her goggles off her eyes slowly, snapping them into place on her forehead (making sure to cover up her most onerous scar). Complete eye contact.

"Were…" she whispered, her face so close to his she could count his freckles. "…you born on a Tuesday?"

Green Wiggle's face was morphing into the perfect picture of sheer terror just as the compartment door was knocked on loudly.

Amelia quickly snapped her goggles back into place. She skipped over to the door and with a _click_ and a _yank,_ it was open.

"Hi, have you seen a—"

Two people, a boy and a girl Amelia's age, stood in the corridor. The girl was already wearing the Hogginwartin's uniform, about Amelia's height but made up an extra inch with the most voluminous hair Amelia had ever seen. The boy was taller but slouched, dark blond and a bit pudgy.

"—toad? His name is Trevor."

"Your eye goggles are incredibly hard-wearing." The bushy haired girl gave her a look of inspection and suspicion that would've made Aunt Petunia proud.

"Er, yes, very rainbow," Blondie mumbled in vague agreement.

Amelia did some inspecting of her own. Bushy had Colors like graphing paper and graphite. She looked like someone could take an anvil and slam her with it and she would just dust off her skirt and scold them. Blondie's were _so cool._ Like seeds, sewn into the warm, buttery core, colored like olives. Hidden from sight for now and rather repressed, it was obvious his magic still had a long way to go but _the surprise. The growth._

Bushy shook off her interest in Amelia's strangeness. "We're looking for Neville's toad. Have you seen it?"

_Neville_. What a _**fantastic. name.**_

Amelia smiled widely at Blondie. He looked vaguely alarmed. "Hel _lo_ , Neville. No I have not seen any amphibians on this here day. Other than Bob, y'know, but he gets offended when I call him that."

Bushy's eyes narrowed. She was, Amelia was impressed to say, less than deterred by Amelia's typical antics. "Thank you for your help. We'll be going now."

" _A human who is_ not _alarmed by youuu. You should befriennnd it before it beginsss running away,_ " Bob chortled evilly.

Just before Bushy grabbed the wonderful Blondie, presumably to haul him off, Amelia quickly called after them, "You haven't asked Green Wiggle!"

"I'm sorry?" Bushy's tone was uppity.

"Green Wiggle. Partner to me on the journey to Hogwarrtenstein, circa Compartment 11." Amelia gestured inside the compartment.

"It's actually not called—"

Cautiously, Neville stepped in. There sat Green Wiggle, staring into an abyss of nothingness.

" _Oh, look. You have rendered the boy-child comatosssse,"_ Bob said, sounding bored.

"Bushy and Neville, please meet Green Wiggle. Oi, Green Wiggle, you don't still think I'm a murderous psycho-pyromaniac do you?"

" _Did you just call me_ _ **Bushy**_ _?"_

"Er…what's py-pryro-priario—"

"…she's barmy…She's totally, utterly _barmy_ …"

Amelia decided this was the time to make a dramatic exit. "Why don't you three get to know each other? We'll be spending the next seven years together, growing up together, friendship, companionship, et cetera, et cetera. I'll find the toad! Trevor the Toad! Bye now."

And in a flash of black hair and rainbow lenses, she was gone.

* * *

"Trevorrrr..."

Amelia was pretty sure she'd ran the entire length of the Hog'spress at this point.

"Toad Mc _Toadinson_ …"

" _Are you supposssed to be luring the frog to you with your abysssmal ccchanting?"_

"Hush, Bob." Amelia quipped. "You're just jealous because you know I'd never search for your scaly self."

Bob bit her ear for that.

Knowing she was somewhere near the front of the train, Amelia sighed. She'd seen pretty much the entire Hogwarts student population at this point and their many _, many_ swirling of Colors. She'd also seen their pets: cats, owls and even a fat, semi-sentient rock.

But no toads.

Just as she was about to give up hope, Amelia's eyes latched onto something new.

There, alone, was a boy.

He was reading something, his feet neatly crossed at the ankles, back ramrod straight. His posture would have made royalty cry. Graceful fingers flicked pages with tiny, quick movements.

He exuded a natural aura of someone much older. A mop of sleek chestnut hair, skin the color of fresh cream. His Colors…his Colors were the taste of dark cherries and chocolate, with the aching aftertaste of something sharp and bitter. They were tucked into him, _controlled_ , emitting only a muted glow of red-tinged-black.

"Can I help you?" Dark Glow asked.

"Er—I—erm—"

There was also a bright green toad sitting on Dark Glow's head.

Dark Glow stared. Amelia was about to say _There is a lost toad atop your head_ when Bob decided to take action.

Sliding down from Amelia's shoulder, Bob took action. Dark Glow, who's trunk named him as _Theodore Nott_ , looked at the blue snake interestedly, reaching out a hand in invitation. Bob hissed, pleased.

" _What wonderful mannerssss, girl-child pay attention to thiss okay."_ He slithered up the course of the young boy's body and then…

_glub._

"…did he just…"

"Bob _."_ Amelia was speaking English. Speaking in English calmly. Screeching in Parseltongue would probably be mildly distressing to Dark Glow.

" _Bob_ , dear Bobby, loyal and trusted reptilian friend, tell me you _DID NOT JUST_ _ **EAT**_ _TREVOR THE TOAD."_

Bob burped happily in response. _"That will teachhh you to compare me to amphibiiianssss."_

* * *

"I'm _so sorry_ …"

Neville sniffled. Amelia hadn't been able to find him in time, before they reached school, so now she was delivering the news at Hogsmeade Station.

"…he was just sitting on this boy's head…don't think he felt a thing—"

"Can't you tell you've done enough?" sniffed Bushy angrily. "Just go away."

Amelia's heart clenched, just a little for a just a second. She handed Neville the dead toad (she had poked Bob angrily until he regurgitated) wrapped in a handkerchief Dark Glow had given her.

"I would never—"

"It's okay," Neville mumbled, obviously tired of her rambling apologies.

And they both turned around, heading over to where Hagrid was calling for a first years.

Amelia had never been great at making friends.

She thought, coming to the Wizarding World, things might have been different.

But once an outsider, always an outsider it seemed.

At least she had Hagrid.

" _It is senssselesss to be so attached to such a weak blob of ssslimy flesh—"_

And Bob.

"I'm going to kill you."

"— _did not even tassste that good_ — _"_

"Bury you alive. Chop you into little pieces. Use you as potions ingredients."

"— _no ressspect for the hierarchy of nature—"_

"I'm going to throw you into a lake. Also, off a tower."

"— _as if that amphibiousss globule was worth an hour of anyone'sss time—"_

"And I'm going to only feed you fruit for a month."

That shut him up.

* * *

As they sat in tiny boats, floating on still black water towards the huge and beautiful Hogwarts castle, maybe Amelia understood what the fuss was about.

Hogwarts was so full of magic, even Bob could taste it.

And Amelia?

Suffice to say, if she hadn't invested many pounds into her wraparound sunglasses, Amelia Potter would probably have been in a coma. Hogwarts was like a titanic, castle-shaped, overzealous Christmas tree. A swirl of every possible color imagine. Big, Buzzing and Red.

Amelia wished the atmosphere in the little four-person boat was half as snazzy as Hogwarts.

"So…"

Crickets could literally be heard.

Why did she have to be trapped in the Small Boat of Immense Awkwardness?

"Er…what are your names, by the way?"

Bushy glanced at her and only sniffed in response. She seemed to be taking the loss of Trevor very seriously, considering he wasn't her toad.

Neville shrugged like he really didn't know.

Dark Glow just raised an eyebrow.

"I'm Amelia, just in case you were wondering. Amelia Potter."

Neville fell out of the boat.

* * *

Turns out Hogwartyens are not segregated and small enough so further microcosms were an ancient tradition. There was Sneaky the Serpents, Badgers (or beavers?) of Loyalty, Lion Roar Roar and Smart Bird.

Or something like that anyway. Amelia had kind of tuned Professor McGonagall and most of the Sorting because even with her Rainbow Goggles of Protection, she was in serious danger of passing out from sensory overload. Every _brick_ in this forsaken place was imbued with bloody Color. It was actually a bit excessive.

Don't even get her started on the ghosts, portraits and _bloody magical people_.

* * *

" _ **Slytherin!**_ **"**

Bushy blinked several times.

The entire hall was silent.

Someone from the green table hissed, _"_ A _mudblood?_ "

Valiantly, Bushy, who's real name turned out to be the very-Shakespearean Hermione Granger, pretended not to notice. She gave Neville a weak smile and sat at an empty corner of the table that she was now supposed to call home.

* * *

" _ **Gryffindor!"**_

This seemed shock Neville Longbottom even more than a Muggleborn being sorted into Slytherin.

* * *

" _ **Hufflepuff!"**_

Several glass goblets shattered as Theodore Nott made his way to the table of Yellow Friendly Folk with a murderous expression on his face.

* * *

"Potter, Amelia!"

Well, that secret was out. Whispers burst to life around her as Amelia sat on a stool in front of the entire Hogwarts population.

The ragged old hat basically swallowed her head whole and smelled vaguely of old leather and moldy parchment. It had no Color, just an infusion of magic so deep and old it seeped into its very smell.

" _Ah…Miss Potter."_

Hi, hat. You smell very funny.

" _Thank you, Miss Potter. You are a curious thing aren't you? Intelligent and gifted, uniquely gifted…your heart is warm enough, but you're no noble heroine ironically enough…Not too hard of a decision, though…no, not too hard at all..."_

Amelia wasn't sure if she should be flattered?

" _Better be…"_

" _ **RAVENCLAW!"**_

Filius Flitwick fell from his chair.

* * *

"Miss Potter! Oh, Miss Potter!" A high, squeaky voice called after her.

The Welcoming Feast had passed pretty quickly after sorting was over. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore stood up, reiterated basic code of conduct, said some great words and everyone ate. No one at the Ravenclaw had really spoken to Amelia except for a few elder years who asked her why she was wearing that thing on her eyes (she had made up that she was colorblind, back when she was at Privet Drive), why did she have a snake (more like why does the snake have _me_ ) and could they see her scar (no, please eat go eat some breadsticks).

She had been following the prefects when her Head of House, a tiny man with a wispy white beard and electric blue eyes and Colors, had called for her.

"Yes, sir?"

Flitwick panted, out of breath from running after her. Standing in front of her, they were about the same size. "Professor Dumbledore wishes for me to escort you to meet him in his office immediately. He said your wand had just arrived?" The small man's tone turned curious.

Amelia nodded. "It was made for me."

Flitwick gestured for him to follow her. "Tell me more as we walk, my dear. Also what are those magnificent lenses your _face_?"

Amelia thought she might like this Filius Flitwick fellow.

* * *

Amelia Potter was locked in a staring contest with a gargoyle.

Professor Flitwick had forgotten something at the Great Hall and told her the password was _Razor Lolly_ and to go straight, left, right, then straight. She had found the golden gargoyles that apparently protected the Headmasters office but the password was not working.

Bob, who had been banished by her early on to curl inside the sleeve of her robe, popped his head out and hissed at her. " _Take off your bloody goggles and have ssssome ressspect. They jussst want to ssee your eyesss and confirm you are human."_

Amelia thought this was rather rude and judgmental of the gargoyles.

Then again, they were gargoyles.

She carefully pulled the lenses off her face but kept her eyes carefully squinted. The gargoyle shone out like a beacon of bronze and gold light, smelling of onions and suspicion right now.

" _They do not trussst you. Perssssonally, I do not blame them. You are known to turn on a sspeciess at the ssslightesst whim—"_

Amelia threw her hands in the air. "I just can't win with you reptilians, can I? I must be the single most incompatible Parseltongue ever to live."

The gargoyles nodded their ugly heads sagely.

Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose. "Bob, please tell your demonic friends that if they don't let me in, I'll— I'll—"

"Miss Potter, who on earth are you talking to?"

And there he stood. Supreme Mugwup, Headmaster and all-around Uber Wizard Jedi #1: Albus Many-Names Dumbledore.

He shone out like a rainbow. No, seriously, like an actual rainbow. His magic was absolutely radiant. It cloaked him, like an old well-worn cape.

He lived up to his every name.

"Er—Professor—Headmister Dumblerainbow— I mean— your gargoyles and I are having a disagreement right now."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled so hard it was a wonder glitter didn't burst like fireworks around his head. He smiled in the way only old people can smile. "Not to worry, Miss Potter. I am well aware Malcolm and Marvin can be quite cantankerous."

Dumblez stepped in front of her and gave the two statues a scolding look, like one would give to wayward puppies. They clicked and then moved aside, shamefaced, to reveal the weirdest, circularly rotating staircase.

"After you."

Amelia followed her new Headmaster up to reveal a room, _blaring_ with magical instruments. Portraits all over the walls. And was that a _fireplace_ on a bird stand next to a bird _bath_?

Amelia winched and snapped her goggles back into place. Dumbledore looked at her interestedly. He took a seat in one of two plushy red chairs in front of his desk. "Hagrid told me a bit of what you told him…I hope you don't mind, I'm most interested in your own account."

Amelia hummed. "Pretty simple, Professor Dumbledore sir. I can see magic, I've deduced. Byproduct of a genetic thing my school nurse called _synesthesia._ "

Dumbledore nodded along. Then he leaned in and gazing at her intently over half-moon spectacles, he said…

"Didn't you mean…Professor _Dumblerainbow_ , Amelia Potter?"

Um.

"If you were offended—"

"I quite preferred it." He popped a lemon drop into his mouth, a tray of which appeared out of nowhere. "Lemon drop, dear?"

She shook her head. He continued speaking in the wizened, slightly-insane but also slightly-wise way. "Muggle science is most remarkable. Do let me know if you feel any urges to redirect magical theorem in the name of Isaac Newton or rewrite the philosophy of magery. Or poetry. Poetry is quite rewritable, if I'm being honest."

Dumbledore was…

"Now, for your wand! I do I have it here somewhere…might've stowed it…"

The Headmaster pulled out a ragged, rather worse for wear teddy bear. There, sticking out of its belly among white fluff, was her wand.

"Yes, yes, teddy bears…never understood them until Arthur Weasley enlightened me…they make great wand-holders, don't you think?"

Albus Dumbledore was…

"Here you are now." He presented her wand most formally, laid flat on both palms, his white head and ginormous beard bowed in respect. "Wield it most wisely, Amelia Dorea Potter." He looked her directly in the eyes, twinkling madly. "And…beware roosters, ADP. All the feathered beasts and eucalyptus leaves. Definitely those eucalyptus trees."

Albus Dumbledore was _absolutely brilliant_.

Bob, perched on her wrist, trembled in fear.

_"Salazzzar sssave usss all. The two of you together are the bloody Armageddon come alive."_

* * *

 

The Ravenclaw Tower was guarded by a very real, very beautiful, and very magical statue of its namesake. Echoes of blue and purple floated around her in wispy nebulae, remnants of her magic. The Lady of the Tower turned to Amelia on Sunday night.

Suffice to say, Amelia had had an exhaustive day and was more than ready to let go and sleep.

The Fates however were not so good at this _letting Amelia get some sleep_ business.

" _Who walks on four legs in morning, two legs in daylight and three at night?"_

A riddle?

"I—uh—am extremely bad at riddles."

Rowena Ravenclaw just arched a brow.

"Wow, arching the brow, great ability, great skill, very smart people-esque, you know, and, as you're Smart People Queen, I personally can see how that appeals to you. But what if I just say _default_ like would that work out between us as a go-to—"

"Miss Potter, what are you _saying_?

Filius Flitwick stood behind her.

"…hello, Professor Flitwick…" Amelia mumbled.

Flitwick stepped forward with a shake of his small head. "If you did not know the answer, Miss Potter, simply wait for another student to help you. All first years struggle slightly at first, but they eventually get the hang of it."

Then he turned to the Statue and answered, "Man."

"Correct." The statue gave Amelia one very subtly done haughty sniff. She turned, revealing a beautiful dark blue staircase.

"Now, Miss Potter, never try to _barter_ with this statue of the Blue Lady. There was quite an incident a few years ago…well, all said, just don't try too much. Give up, but don't _negotiate_. She is quite capable, despite being made of stone."

Amelia wished she could arch her brow. Because right now she would arch it very archly at Filius Flitwick, mysterious tiny man. "Professor…this incident…wouldn't have to do with your missing ring finger, would it?"

Flitwick's voice raised an octave. " _Miss Potter!_ I am—going to _sleep_ —I _recommend_ —you do the same. Good _night_."

And then he scuttered away.

_But,_ Amelia thought. _Flitwick could scutter all he wanted, my body could beg for sleep and Rowena could arch to her stone heart's desire…but a curious Amelia is a_ _ **doomed**_ _Amelia_.

* * *

Later:

" _Where do the lost find?"_

"To the mind that is still, the whole universe surrenders."

Silence.

"Be open to the echoes of wisdom. The truth will reveal itself in time."

How could a statue purse its lips?

"The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."

Ravenclaw looked unimpressed.

"Erm…respond intelligently…even to unintelligent treatment?"

Her eyes flashed sharply.

"I will…go to class now…"

_Monday, September 2 1991._

_Operation Taoist Idioms as the Default Password: not yet successful._

_Additional positive: might discover the key to all wisdom._

_Potentially useful for bribing other Smart People._

* * *

_The first day!_

Amelia was excited, something that didn't come easily to her. Hogwarts had proven a goldmine of possibility and she was ready for the academic aspects to be just as amazing.

She was in the Great Hall, slurping down her sugared-up oatmeal, and Professor Flitwick was handing out timetables. Amelia got hers and was pleased that she only had two classes on Monday—Potions with someone name _Severus Snape_ and Transfiguration with a _Minerva McGonagall._ This school was awfully big on alliteration.

With that thought and a malicious giggle somewhere to her left, her sunny morning disposition ended.

See, Amelia knew group dynamics. She knew there were Alpha Dogs and sheep and oddballs. She knew that sometimes, based on the makeup of the group, the leader could be an Alpha Dog that was actually just a fanciful sheep. An oddball could even become an Alpha Dog within the right circumstances.

But when Amelia peeked across the Ravenclaw table to see Mandy Brocklehurst whispering behind her hand into the ears of several neat looking Nice Girls…she knew this was the worst kind of dynamic. At least for a weirdo (the extreme oddball) like her.

God, she _hated_ the name Mandy Brocklehurst. _I bet her birthday is a prime number. An ugly one, like 23. I **bet.**_

Mandy Brocklehurst was _normal_ and _nice_ and a Leader.

Mandy Brocklehurst was the antithesis of any Amelia out there and she knew it and she manipulated it. Amelia had been dealing with various Mandy Brocklehursts since the tender age of before-she-could-talk. Dear cousin Dudley was a rather larger, more violent version.

A giggly laugh sounded. Amelia looked over through googles that now felt clunky and horribly embarrassing, and the girls quickly looked away, their faces badly suppressing laughter.

And there it was. That one emotion Amelia never really managed quirking her way out of, no matter how much she twisted or turned inside the shell of her mind.

Pins, like little lightning bolts, pressed into the backs of her eyelids and the center of her sternum. Everything around her felt just a little too cold and everything inside her a little too hot.

Amelia wanted to cry.

Thankfully, she was well practiced at how not to cry when she maybe wanted to most.

_No._

Slamming down on herself, in ways so deeply integrated to herself, Amelia felt her own Colors slap her back into normalcy. To those magically sensitive around her, it would have felt like a gentle gust. A soft _suck_ , inwards.

No matter how much laughter or looks or Mandy Brocklehursts, she would contain her hurt.

Sadness had no place holding her hand.

Amelia had faced loneliness her entire life. Here, swirling in the center of the closest she would ever get to People Like Her, she knew once and for all: she would never fit in. There was just something—inside her, about her—that couldn't embed itself in anything deeper than her own body.

And she was okay with that. She would learn to be okay with that.

Unbeknownst to Amelia, a dark-haired man was peering at her from the Head Table. He was determined to hate the little girl for looking so much like the man he hated and the woman he loved. Instead he couldn't help but look and see _himself_.

It was unacceptable.

It also made it harder to hate her.

* * *

Amelia's wand was twisted and slipped and into her belt loop, like a cheap holster. At a solid 12 inches, it was about a quarter of the size of Amelia herself. Suffice to say, it looked a bit more like a reedy sword than a wizard's wand. But Amelia had loved her wand. Because her wand, her wand was more than a piece of wood or a bit of string. It was _alive_.

She had felt it the first moment the dark cool wood touched her skin. This wand…was _more_.

She had happily decided to name her Wanda.

Sitting in Transfiguration for the first time, asked to turn a matchstick into a needle, Amelia was having a bit of a disagreement with Wanda.

"Miss Potter, a demonstration if you would."

Minerva McGonagall was made of the kind of stuff that made your great-grandmother swoon. All hard lines, high bun and intelligent eyes. Her magic lacked color (maybe it was gray?) but was as stretchy as it was severe, like a leather whip or a cat's tail.

"Ok now, Wanda, lets get it together," muttered Amelia under her breath. Wanda reacted with a roll of Color, dark and deep within her dusky mold. Like a teenager, rolling their eyes.

Amelia grit her teeth. " _Virga_."

To Amelia's eyes, the wand gave a bit of a _huff_ like _please, can you, like, leave me alone here take this puff of whatever, ok, whatever_.

To everyone else's eyes, nothing happened but a bit of a twitch in Amelia's left eye.

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. "Miss Potter, perhaps your eyewear…?"

Amelia shook her head. She concentrated on her own Color, currently a bright red out of both embarrassment and anger. She focused on her wand-hand, lips pressed together in exertion. She felt it gather and reach towards her wand, slowly. Beads of sweat started gathering beneath her heated face. Her magic leaned, closer, a little closer—but she knew, just at the last second, that Wanda was closed to any and all reception—

The wand bucked in her hand and Padma Patil's braid was on fire.

Wanda bubbled beneath her fingers, as if to _snicker_.

This wand was a _brat_.

Mandy Brocklehurst took this moment to whine. " _Professor_ Mc _Gonagall!_ Amelia set _Padma's_ hair on _fire!_ "

That was the thing about being able to feel how sentient your wand was.

You knew exactly how _far_ from compatible you both were.

It kind of made her appreciate Bob.

…Bob.

When was the last time she had seen Bob the Blue Snake?

* * *

Turns out, Bob was terrified of heights and had slipped away before her entrance to Ravenclaw Tower. Amelia found him in the Entrance Hall, just before double Potions, wrapped around the ankle of a suit of armor.

Amelia had been walking rather sulkily, Wanda's extremely annoying behavior making her wonder if she would _ever_ truly learn magic, when the snake appeared before her.

" _You have missssed me."_

Amelia rolled her eyes, but actually didn't deny it. She reached out her hand to let the little guy under her sleeve.

" _I am glad to see you and the Headmassster have not yet brought down the cassstle."_

Amelia shrugged.

" _You are anxiousss._ "

Amelia shrugged again. A flock of first years flew by her.

Bob became uncharacteristically quiet _. "You are...lonely."_

Amelia fidgeted with the strap on her googles.

Bob did the best thing he could possible do: wrapped himself snugly around her wrist and gave her a soft lick. His body warmed and the heat was a tender gesture.

Amelia softly rubbed his head. She wished she could talk to him, but she had promised Hagrid to keep her Parseltongue quiet. Besides, it wasn't like her reputation needed to be any stranger.

Amelia caught up with the other first years, after descending the stairs into the dungeon. Potions was Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw too but Amelia had been too busy battling with Wanda to notice Theodore Nott earlier.

The boy was set apart, even in the midst of the Hufflepuff Pack. He looked like a dark cloud on a sunny day. He was leaning against a wall, his face buried in a book. His Colors were dark as ever and only reinforced his stark difference to the rest of his house, malevolent cherry as opposed to the rest's merry and cheery.

Amelia sidle up to him but his dark bottle ink eyes just peeked out over the top for a moment.

Okay then, a _thunder_ cloud on a sunny _beach_.

Wasn't there some sort of outsiders' code? She and Dark Glow were ostracized from their lot. They should band together, like the Merry Men But Not Men.

Then again, thinking of Dark Glow as merry in any context was wrong.

"So…Hufflepuff?"

Theodore Dark of Nott hissed. Obviously, this was the last thing he needed to be reminded of.

Amelia held up her hands. Before she could further outcast herself from another outcast, the slow creak of the door sounded and all the first years fell silent.

In single file, they entered the dungeons. Amelia, near the back of the line, smelled the place before she saw it: dark and mossy, so many scents coming together that it tickled her nose sharply. The orange glow of torches lit up the cold classroom. Most remarkably— _there was not a single Color_.

Settling into a spot near the back, Amelia was relieved by the lack of magic in the classroom. She gently pulled off the googles with a soft _squelch_ and felt the cool air touch her hidden eyelids. She was sure there were imprints of the edges, bright red around her eyes.

The chair next to her shifted and Amelia was both shocked and delighted to see her fellow pariah, Dark Glow. He glanced at her mouth open to probably say something along the lines of _don't think this makes us friends,_ but jerked when he saw she had taken off her huge googles.

He blinked a few times, eyes flicking between her forehead and her eyes. Closed and opened his mouth. Then turned away when a black billowing shape caught both of their attention.

The Potions Master of Hogwarts was a bat-like figure, cloaked entirely in black with two curtains of dark black hair hanging down the sides of his face. He spoke with a sneer and a slow, smooth drawl, furthering his impersonation of a vampire. He glided to the front of the classroom.

"There will be no _fool_ ish wand waving or silly _in_ cantations—"

Amelia let out a tiny sigh of relief. She wasn't ready to embarrass herself in front of El Vampiro, who's Colors by the way were blood red and static-y like charged little porcupine spikes.

"—bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death…that is, if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Oh, wow. Sudden mood shift.

Potions Master, Grumpy Vamp, began taking role call and lingered over her name.

"Miss _Potter_ …our new celebrity."

Snape looked up, a malicious light in his black eyes, but then paled. Like Theodore Nott, her google-less gaze turned him mute. The classroom broke out in whispers, everyone noticing Amelia Potter had finally deigned to show her face…and her scar.

He cleared his throat and curtly looked away.

Amelia quickly ran her fingers through her fringe, patting it flat over her scar. Theo snorted quietly next to her, as if to say _yeah sure that will help_.

Theodore Nott would get on awfully (also horribly, horrifically and potentially lethally) well with Bob the Blue Snake.

Amelia made a promise to never acquaint them, beyond the already horrendous toad-eating incident.

Snape quickly assigned them a simple sleeping draught and slid away into his office. No one but he saw the tremor in his hand.

Amelia went to work but couldn't forget the way Severus Snape looked at her in that moment...as if he was seeing a ghost.

Potions went by very quickly. Remarkably, the lack of wand was a huge plus for Amelia. She quickly began seeing rhythms, patterns and levels in the art. It was rather a lot like cooking with Colors, Amelia thought, and thanks to the Durselys she was better at cooking than most eleven year olds at that. She was fascinated as she watched ingredients come together, certain movements be applied and then _Color_ : soft and small. Birthed from the cauldrons, like a baby bird hatched.

When Snape looked down his large nose at the perfect sleeping draft, his eyes couldn't help but keep flickering towards Amelia's eyes. A muscle in his neck was strained. His mouth was a hard line. Amelia truly didn't know what about her inspired this kind of terror in the terrifying man but accepted his grunt as high praise. Snape moved on to scathingly fire insults at bystanding Hufflepuffs.

A bell clanged and Snape vanished the contents of every cauldron in one swish of his short black want wand. Amelia gasped as she watched, red tendrils extend from his body and _snap_ at the speed of sound. They shattered the potions' contents, the tedious magic they had worked so hard to produce. She could only watch as the wormwood, valerian and sopophorous bean became the dust of nothingness.

Theodore Nott packed up and gave her a small nod of acknowledgement, his great compliment for her talent in the class. He slid away his books quickly and moved with efficient grace. His Colors left soft smears in the air behind him, sizzling away as he moved further.

His Colors were still like nothing she'd ever seen, even with her new and ameliorated Hogwarts scope.

Amelia snapped her googles back on and poked a sleeping Bob.

"We're going to befriend that one, one day."

Bob snorted. But to himself, he heard the note of hopelessness in her voice. His Human required the company of other Humans, but they did not accompany her. The tint of sadness in her pallor and scent were displeasing.

_Other humansss should only be ssso_ **honored** _to acquaint with hisss own!_

He, after all, settled for nothing but the best.

He would acquire this Theodorus Night for the girl-child. _Easssy as a fresh rat's eye._

* * *

Amelia went to bed the night of her first day quietly exhausted and rather…disappointed.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, for all its build up and all its renown, had left her feeling no different than she had sitting in her Cupboard Under the Stairs. Here, it was simply her Bed Upon a Tower.

Tucked into dark blue blankets, Amelia had her navy curtains drawn tightly around her to block out the sounds and sights of the other first year girls huddled together and giggling. At least she still had her Colors. Her goggles were pulled off, next to her pillow and the gentle glow of her magic surrounded her. She remembered her own confident tone, telling Dumbledore her deductions. That the Colors she had know since she was less than a child were simply manifest forms of magic. That she had this _synesthesia_ , and it interacted with her magical genes. She could fool the Ultra-Wizard Headmaster maybe ( _probably not_ ), but even Amelia Potter could not fool herself.

Amelia had no idea what the Colors were. Magic, sure, but that was like saying Outer Space is air. Her Sight, whatever its uniqueness, was deeply complicated and felt more like a disability than anything else.

Obviously… _obviously_ she wasn't just another little witch. Obviously…she couldn't be, well you know, _normal_.

Clutching her blankets in the dark, Amelia felt about five years old again.

And her Colors, her beautiful, warm Colors, hugged her just as they had when she was a small hungry toddler.

She guessed that loneliness was its own kind of hunger.

* * *

_Defense Against the Dark Arts_.

Amelia thought this was definitely a curious title for a subject, magical or otherwise. As a color connoisseur herself, labeling anything "dark" without proper investigation and thorough analysis was really quite blasphemous.

Take Dark Glow for example, sitting a few paces from her in the Great Hall. He who stared deeply into his cereal like it was Medusa herself, slowly turning him to stone. Dark Glow _was_ darkness. Not in a mean way, just a _dark glow_ kind of Dark Glow way. (This is why Amelia never tries explaining things…)

Ignorant of the incoherent rambling, Bob slipped onto the table in the Great Hall and tried sneaking his way towards a sausage. Amelia clamped a hand down on his tail just as Terry Boot, a small boy with spectacles almost as large as her own, screamed bloody murder.

" _SNAKE! Snake!_ SNAKE! _"_

Amelia quickly scooped up Bob and lightly smacked him on the head. In English, she said. "See what you've done?"

Penelope Clearwater looked down from a few seats down. "Amelia, you do know you're only allowed a toad, owl or cat?"

Amelia shrugged. "Hagrid let me...?"

Mandy Brocklehurst, ever eavesdropping and opinionating, said, "I think _she_ thinks she's above school rules. Ought to throw her and her _serpent_ in with the _Slytherins_ where she _belongs—_ "

"Miss Brocklehurst, that is quite enough!" Filius Flitwick magically manifested out of nowhere, as he had tendency to do. "Miss Potter, while that is rather unconventional, as long as I do not see your reptile in class or harming a student, it is fine. Mr. Boot, do pull yourself together."

Brocklehurst gave her a look that could turn sugar to salt and turned to her girl squad, whispering about _special treatment_ and _Weirdo Who Lived_ and _unfair_.

Amelia sighed and looked at Bob. Bob looked at the sausages. Terry Boot, out of spite probably, ate all the sausages.

Gathering up her things, Amelia headed to class. She had yet to see this Quirinus Quirrell, but according to odd gossip he was a reclusive, stuttering man who wore a turban. Amelia wondered what color his turban would be and maybe _he_ would tell her his birthday? Minerva McGonagall had just told her to take a seat. Also what was _with_ the alliterative names? Rather scary to be honest. A name was a sacred thing, Amelia knew, but _groups_ and names like a teaching staff, well that was just kind of ominous.

Dumbledore seemed like the type to rename his entire staff, just so he could have a Theme of Glory.

_Perhaps_ … _perhaps they had_ _ **secret names**_ _. True names, hidden behind years of—_

Oh, but Dedalus Diggle?

Maybe it was a Magical World thing. A Tradition of One Letter or something.

So lost in her thoughts, Amelia didn't even realize she had reached the Defense classroom.

All of a sudden, scent, sight and taste permeated her mouth like acrid gas. Standing next to his desk and holding an iguana, Professor Quirinus Quirrell stood. He himself was of medium build, with a medium face and medium magic.

_There was something…_

Amelia could feel her eyes begin burning. It was like someone had lit a flame behind her skull, like the pus that was always seeping from the scar she tried to ignore had _accelerated_ and it _burned_.

… _something clinging to his_ **head**...

Stopped in the doorway of a half-full classroom, Amelia Potter felt genuine terror.

Because there, behind a dark red turban, Amelia saw the same leaking _pus_ , the same vile horror of magic she had seen everyday in the mirror for the entirety of her life.

Professor Quirrell hid behind his turban what Amelia hid behind her scar.

She didn't realize she was trembling until Bob hissed, " _I asssume there iss something awry."_

Quirrell smiled at her and gestured her to a seat in the front. "M-Miss Potter…what a pl-pl-pleasure at _last_ …"

* * *

 


	4. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia Potter faces authority and angst.

* * *

 

"You're saying it wrong. It's Wingardium Levi- _o_ -sa, not Levi-o- _sa_."

Off to the side, exiting the classroom, Hermione Granger was instructing a slowly inflating Ronald Weasley. He was growing about as red in the face as his hair. He snarled under his breath.

Amelia ignored them. Slipped in and around the desks, she searched anxiously for her Head of House _,_ craning her next around the crowd of Gryffindor and Slytherin first years.

Spotting the small man hidden behind stacks of papers, Amelia rushed forward.

"Professor Flitwick!"

"Miss Potter!" He was startled. "What can I do for you?"

Amelia rubbed her eyes beneath her goggles. All of her had been so consumed with _finding_ Flitwick, that she hadn't given thought to what she would _say_ to Flitwick.

Blunt was always good right? "Professor, I need to meet with Headmaster Dumbledore about Professor Quirrell."

Flitwick looked even more bewildered. "But what about?"  
"There is…there is something _wrong with Professor Quirrell._ " Amelia felt her mouth go dry at the memory of that very _wrongness_.

Flitwick looked at her for a beat. Then two. His baby blue eyes were surprisingly inscrutable. His magic, usually bobbing and strangely evocative of the phrase _jiminy cricket!_ , was now coiling into him, tense as a cobra.

"Miss Potter…" he began slowly. "I understand that entering Hogwarts is an emotional time. I am fairly lenient, especially with my first years. Adjustment is difficult. But I must draw the line at slandering Professors—"

"But—"

"—I know you are accustomed to a certain attention and your celebrity can be a complicated thing—"

"Professor, just please—"

"But I do draw the line here. Right here, indeed. Please take a seat, Miss Potter. I'll hear no more of it."

Amelia felt like cold acid was sliding into her veins.

* * *

Filius Flitwick sighed and allowed himself one more glance at the immobile figure of Amelia Potter. Mouth just slightly ajar, eyes hidden behind those conspicuous lenses.

When he looked again, she was gone.

If only he what he had done.

* * *

 _Stupid. Stupid._ _**Stupid** _ **.**

Amelia had grown up, learned, been educated by life and living, not to trust adults. She knew, _she knew_ , that an adult looked at a child as a half-formed human. It was a loving horror with which they treated the opinions of the smaller.

Amelia was a _fool_ , an _absolute_ _**fool**_ , to think wizards could have been _different_ somehow, that people could be _different_ in any way. Hogwarts, hogwash, muggles, wizards, school nurses and bloody magical professors: they were _**all. the. same.**_

Thoughts boiling in her head like bile, clanging with an aching metallic taste. Amelia sat alone, utterly still in the corner of Charms.

Not even her crushed dreams of human companionship compared to this. _This_ , this was…all her hopes of a different institution…of _trusting_ …

Amelia stopped herself. Breathed in and out.

Her feelings needed to be put aside.

Who had trusted her, seen her truly?

Hagrid.

Okay. But he was only a groundskeeper. Who else?

 _Dumbledore_.

Dumbledore. A wave of righteousness seared through Amelia's small frame so strongly, she almost shot up out of her chair.

 _Forget_ Flitwick and his ignorance (and that it hurt)! _Forget_ bureaucracy! Hogwarttens was a _power state_.

And who had the most power?

She clenched her teeth to keep from grinning ferally.

Amelia would go directly to the head of Hydragwarts.

* * *

Something strange was in the state of Headmaster Dumbledore's office.

Amelia had marched on up several flights of stairs, maintaining her strong sense of righteous indignation, when she had reached the Golden Gargoyles of Doom. She opened her mouth—prepared to assault them with a stream of consciousness _so strange_ , _so weird_ , _so utterly_ _**astounding**_ that they would have no choice—

But they literally just rolled their eyes _(rolled their stony, undead eyes)_ and let her in.

Amelia closed her mouth in abrupt confusion but edged her way up the round-and-round stairway.

Muffled voices became echoes became clear.

"Please, sir—"

"—It's like I'm a different _species_ —"

"I won't put up with it. I won't. I overheard _these_ two and it would be a fallacy to dismiss us outright—"

"There are three of us, it can't be so unorthodox. And if it's donation you need, I'll send out a letter to my father tonight—"

"—for the sake of my personal _safety_ —"

"I _implore_ you—"

"—There must be some sense of loyalty within you? I am after all, so perfectly suited to your own House—"

"—Think of it as an act of _kindness_ , and _balance_ , the three of us, we'll balance it out, as if nothing would be changed!"

Such was the scene Amelia walked into.

In the midst of it, sat one white-bearded Dumblerainbow, head propped up on his fist.

He wore an expression of utter rapture and mild horror, like watching a car crash or one of those punched-in-the-face-in-slow-motion films.

His twinkling eyes (was that Color or what? Normal eyes didn't _do_ that) found me and twinkled even harder.

"Ah, Miss Potter. Here to complete the quadrant?"

Theodore Nott looked like he was on fire. A fire made of shadows. Fire that sucked light out of his surroundings.

Hermione Granger's graphite looked like it had been hit with a very large axe and the splintering was more unfortunate for _you_ than it was for her.

Neville's… _everything_ …had retreated so deeply into himself, he genuinely could have passed for a Muggle.

Amelia's eyebrows had raised so high she was pretty sure they were going to take off.

"I'm here…for reasons," Amelia managed.

Hermione Granger rolled her eyes. Theodore Nott's eye twitch imperceptibly, like he had rolled his eyes in his head. Neville just looked at his shoes.

"Most illuminating," said the Guardian of Hogwarts solemnly. "I shall reason with you most happily, Miss Potter, but for now I think I have one too many impromptu guests."

"Professor please," Granger's voice was firm. "We have had enough. Our wishes are not unwarranted, nor so difficult as to be impossible."

Albus Dumbledore's posture changed. He looked down with utter seriousness at his student now. Time slowed down when Albus Dumbledore took things seriously.

"The three of you wish to be resorted?"

They nodded.

"You are unhappy with your houses to such a degree that you believe the Sorting Hat will listen to your pleas?"

They nodded even more.

Dumbledore's eyes were hiding something now—something sharper, hidden and dulled.

"So be it."

The Headmaster rose to his _huge_ height (how had she not noticed he was 6'3?) and walked to a dusty corner of his round office. There, sat on the highest shelf, was the Sorting Hat.

Amelia watched in fascination as Dumbledore lifted the raggedy piece of barely held together hat and whispered something to it. The Hat lurched, as if startled awake. Then it peered like a grumpy old man at the three young resortees.

Dumbledore gestured Neville forward. Neville, red-faced in his nervousness, wiped the sweat off his palms and staggered towards their mighty Headmaster.

Dumbledore stared down at him for a moment. His brow crinkled for a flash of a second but smooths away so quickly Amelia wonders if she imagined it.

"Mr. Longbottom." Amelia heard the slightest tint of gentleness in his tone. She wondered if Neville knew how easily he brought out the kindness in people. "Are you certain?"

Neville didn't speak but just nodded a little too eagerly.

Dumbledore sighed but handed him the hat.

It touched Neville's cherub blonde hair. A beat.

Neville yelped.

A thud.

Neville knocked out cold.

Dumbledore leaned over interestedly and pulled a long sword set in glittering rubies. He had the audacity to smile.

A hand was waved in Neville's direction and Neville gasped as he regained consciousness. Dumbledore helped him to his feet and, as their audience watched in shocked silence, he presented Neville with the sword.

Hermione gasped quietly when the inscription on the sword came into view. Dumbledore gave her a small smile and said, "Recognize it, Miss Granger?"

Hermione nodded so slightly, eyes wide.

To Amelia, Theodore and Neville, he solemnly proclaimed: "May I present to you, Neville Francis of House Longbottom, the eternal sword of Godric Garrett Gryffindor, Founder of Hogwarts and Wizard of the Wild Moor."

Neville looked like he was going to pass out again.

The sword was at least two feet long, made of pure silver and edged with diamond. The length of the sword glinted with underlying Color, Color Amelia had seen somewhere? Imprints, deeply embedded, of perfect geometrical magic sank into the silver itself. The hilt was a perfect cross, encrusted with dark rubies and coated with real gold. And there, through the sheen of the silver and the magic, were two words: _godric gryffindor._

"You mean…this…out of the _Hat?_ "

Dumbledore chuckled. "This Hat is the host to Gryffindor's sword. Fitting, as it was Gryffindor's hat."

All eyes swiveled to the raggedy brown thing. It gave a twitch of its folded cloth.

"Neville," Dumbledore gently chided. "This sword will only present itself to a true Gryffindor. I bequeath it to you, in the hopes that it may remind you that you are more than even you can imagine."

Neville's cheeks were flaming. He was also spluttering. Even Theodore Nott looked vaguely alarmed by Dumbledore's words.

"Professor, I c-can't—"

Dumbledore, using his mysterious seriousness, set his gaze firmly. "You must."

Amelia was not totally sure of what was actually going on ( _just take the Sword why don't you? Hold it a bit and then lesson learned, sword back up the hat!_ ), but she saw what only she could see: red sparks were licking from the hilt of the sword where Dumbledore held it.

When Neville's shaking hands grasped the sword from Dumbledore, those red sparks became red ropes and wrapped once, twice, thrice around Neville's hands and wrists. Then they sank into his very skin and Amelia could _watch_ as the red sunk into the core of Neville's seedling magic.

_He gave…his…it couldn't, right?_

No sane Headmaster would give their 11-year-old student a giant sword, right?

Neville's quiet voice almost-whispered, "I, N-Neville Longbottom of House Longbottom, do accede this h-heirloom of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I do s-swear to protect and ch-cherish it as l-long as I must."

No. Amelia wasn't willing to believe it.

"Well said." Dumblerainbow's rainbow came back in full force in full disco ball fashion.

"Professor…" Hermione Granger, probably for the first time in her life, sounded timid. "You didn't…Am I to assume…You just gave..."

Theodore Nott just put his face in his hands.

Dumblerainbow locked eyes with the Slytherin girl and said nothing.

Neville wobbled out the door with the Sword of Gryffindor clutched so tightly his hands were turning white. Under his breath he was mouthing, " _Can't lose it…can't lose it…can never lose it…_ "

Amelia wondered when or if the Wizarding World would ever be, she didn't know, _rational_ (she would never in a thousand years wish it to actually happen). "I don't suppose you have any ancient artifacts to impart to Dark Glow or Hermione Granger, Professor?"

Professor Dumbledore looked far too thrilled by the question. "In fact—"

Theodore Nott and Hermione Granger sprinted out of the office.

Dumbledore looked a little crestfallen, but also a little pleased. "I wondered if they would do that. Bravery might not turn out to dwell in Miss Granger's Gryffindor heart after all…" The old wizard chuckled at his own joke.

"What were you planning on giving them, Headmaster?" _Please don't let him decide to give it to me, please don't let him decide to give it to me, please don't let him decide to give it to me…_

Amelia: 0. Curiosity: 2.

"Ah, Miss Potter, a little nitwick, blubber, here and there. Old jib jab, you see."

 _Phew_ for facetious ramblings.

Bob, at least, had something to say where Amelia didn't. "… _how isss this human permitted to run a ssschool…"_

Dumbledore placed the Sorting Hat back on its shelf and jauntily went on his way to his throne behind a desk. "Now, what can I do for you, Miss Potter?"

Amelia snapped to attention, letting her sense of normality fade. As briefly as she could, she explained that her ability allowed her to see a malevolent magic that had inhabited her scar as long as she had been able to look in a mirror. She explained the chilling utter _terror_ her own Colors had reacted with upon meeting the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, her terror upon realizing that whatever was attached to her scar was also attached to Professor Quirrell.

"Professor, he could be ill— it could be an infection. Maybe my sight is a manifestation of a disease we share? We'll have to look into it, it can't be a coincidence…"

Dumbledore, throughout her diatribe, had a strangely schooled expression, eyes shuttered from any twinkle. It was clearly a slower transition into the same serious Dumbledore who had handed Neville Longbottom the Sword of Godric Gryffindor for keeps.

Amelia finished talking but silence stood between herself and her Headmaster.

Dumbledore pressed a thumb to his lips and closed his eyes for a moment. In the space of a blink, a flash, the usual rainbow of his Color _sunk_ as if immersed in a deep, tidal blue. But just as it appeared, it was gone.

Amelia's brow furrowed.

"Won't you…" her voice felt caught in her throat. "Won't you say something, Headmaster?"

_Please let him believe her. Please let him help her._

Dumbledore looked as if he had aged two hundred years in the two minutes she had spoken.

"Truthfully, Amelia," said the Headmaster. "I am not sure how to react."

Dumbledore sighed and pulled open his drawer. From it, he pulled out a thin wand. "Tell me what you make of this."

Amelia's entire Color lurched. Her stomach turned. She fumbled against a sharp prickling in her skull.

Through her googles, she saw only a faint emission from the wand. Pulling up her thickset glasses, Amelia leaned forward.

There was a feeling of tense uncomfortableness, of the urge to _lurch_ , often evoked by slugs, spiders and various other creepy crawlers in the general populace. There was a movement, faint as the curve of an eyelash and just as dark. And most simply, and subtly, there was an echo of _green_ from the wand, like it had been doused in sludge earlier in its life and the moldy stain had never quite washed out.

Amelia repeated this to Professor Dumbledore.

Dumbledore let out a long, heavy sigh.

He pinched the bridge of his nose briefly before giving her an uncharacteristically fake smile. "Thank you for coming to me with this, Miss Potter. I shall look into it."

Amelia waited for him to saw more.

He waited for Amelia to leave.

"That's— that's it?" Amelia spluttered. "That's all you'll say?"

Dumbledore's entire being felt two thousand pounds heavy. "I wasn't aware I should say more."

"I— I'm just supposed to go to _his_ class? Just— just put away every worry I have? Just like that?"

"Amelia." The gravity in the old wizard's face seemed etched into his very face. "There are matters in this world, of which you may be at the very center, that you have no place in yet. There are questions you may ask that I _cannot_ answer. I ask…I ask that you wait until…you are ready."

 _Until I deem you as ready_. It was unsaid but silently spoken.

"Please know this is for nothing but your safety and wellbeing. I've only ever wanted what's best for you, child."

Amelia was…

Amelia felt…

Achingly, Amelia felt this way before. CPS officers, school teacher and Aunt Petunia.

"Please return to your dormitory now, Miss Potter. And tell no one of your suspicions."

 _Hollow_.

Amelia drew into herself. She couldn't bring her eyes to meet the Headmaster's. She snapped the garish goggles back in place. She picked up her rucksack.

She walked out of the Headmaster's office.

This time she knew that perhaps there were worlds within this world, perhaps there was the _Multiverse_ she had read so eagerly about in her sixth form Physics book…

But in every world, in every universe, parallel or perpendicular, adults were not to be trusted.

Adults were the ones not to be indulged.

She couldn't even bring herself to scold herself.

She just felt broken. She'd truly thought Albus Dumbledore was different.

As she shut the door behind her, knowing she would never of her own volition enter the office again, she caught one last look at the sagacious Albus Dumbledore.

He smelled of lies.

* * *

Professor Severus Snape had a meeting with Albus Dumbledore.

Professor Severus Snape had a meeting with at the time Amelia had dropped in. Waiting behind the door, in the shadows, he listened to James Potter's spawn and Lily Evans' child beg the Headmaster for aid with an obviously harrowing incident. He heard Quirrell's name. Quirrell, who he had also immediately gone to Dumbledore about, the shallow ache of his Dark Mark in the wake of meeting the twitchy man.

He gritted his teeth in irritation.

_Blasted Evans women._

Against his every instinct, he felt his slow, shy empathy grow further for Amelia Dorea Potter.

* * *

" _I heard she's just looking for attention, the little git_ …"

"… _why can't she use her wand properly…"_

" _Haven't a clue where she gets the ego…"_

Dinner was uneventful.

Amelia sat in a crowd of gossip. Some of it about her attention seeking ways (her impromptu trips to Dumbledore and Flitwick apparently got around). But _most_ of it was about—

" _Do you reckon he nicked it?"_

" _Can't have, mate, it's as big as he is."_

" _Will he just carry it around…?"_

Neville Longbottom was still for the most part, alone and friendless. But nosy busybodies clung to him like flies to honey and Amelia felt a bit bad for him. He, like her, had gone to an authority figure for help though he had come out with a literal burden he could barely carry.

Professor McGonagall, who had just entered the Great Hall, stopped briefly at the Gryffindor table too, arms waving and expression half-severe and half-horrified. Amelia watched interestedly as it gradually became more and more horrified. Professor McGonagall even marched up to Albus Dumbledore and demanded in ill-disguised whispered shouting, _what_ _ **exactly**_ _he was thinking?_ Obviously his response was less than satisfactory because McGonagall threw her hands in the air, grabbed an eggroll and stormed out of the Hall.

Theodore Nott also sat in his segregated pocket in a sea of yellow and chatty. His eyes occasionally drifted towards the Gryffindor table but he abruptly hunched over his soup, echoes of terror from the confrontation with their deranged Headmaster still on his face.

Hermione Granger was blank. Back ramrod stiff and staring directly into her food, the hissing gossip around her seemed unable to pass her façade of utter expressionlessness.

Amelia sighed softly to herself. "What chumps, the lot of us."

She looked down to continue to Bob, but saw him mysteriously absent. She considered for a moment to ask around but based on Terry Boot and co. it was probably for the best for her to keep her mouth shut. Bob would turn up eventually.

Amelia fidgeted for a moment with her wand, who responded with a garish fart of purple sparks. She could _hear_ Mandy Brocklehurst's sneer from across the table.

Amelia packed up her books and decided to act on an idea she'd been mulling over since exiting the Office that Shall Not Be Named.

She would go to the library.

For Amelia, such a statement was akin to _it was time to bring out the big guns_ and also _let the good times roll_. The library was an addiction that Amelia had forced herself to curb early on in her life. She could spend hours, days even, curled up in between the stacks. She would stop eating, stop sleeping, stop doing anything but _reading reading reading reading_.

Thus, Amelia had resolved at the age of eight and three-quarters that she would never allow herself to enter a library without clear cut purpose and for more than 7 minutes. One book at a time. One trip at a time.

Unchecked library access plus Amelia equals the possibility of starving.

But right now, all Amelia craved was the escape of literature, of immersing herself in other people's world, full focus on absorbing up their words.

Amelia dashed through the halls, her whole being quivering with excitement. She reached the towering oak doors on the second floor in minutes. She grasped the elaborate door handle that was up to her eyebrows and _pushed_.

 _Not even in her dreams could she imagine this_.

It had—

There were—

_Oh my god._

Amelia wasn't one for squealing usually but in that moment the high-pitched urge called within her.

She saw _at least_ fifty stacks. Hundreds. There must have been _thousands_ of books.

The atmosphere was warm, a little above room temperature, with soft yellow light and plush cushion of every color in every shape of chair imaginable. Every stack was an adventure— every hidden cubby a treasure.

Amelia pulled up her goggles and tried discretely to wipe a tear.

"Are you _crying_?" came a voice behind here.

Hermione Granger was staring at her again.

Hermione Granger seemed to be in habit of being appalled Amelia's every eccentricity.

Amelia was strongly not in the mood for it.

She turned away and disappeared into the book stacks.

Time slowed and drifted away, with Amelia immersed so deeply in her wanderings of the Hogwarts Library. Books on every subject imaginable, both Muggle and magical, some even laced _with_ magic. She felt like she was floating. The only detriment Amelia could find was Madam Pince, a crusty old woman who sat perched at the front desk, glaring accusingly at every person who walked by.

It was near the left corner of the library that she came across Hermione Granger again. As it was perhaps the first time she was able to see Miss Granger without Miss Granger seeing _her_ , Amelia decided to take advantage of the opportunity.

She gazed at the girl with the bushy hair, the green-rimmed robes and the blank face. In the library alone, Hermione's guard had mostly dropped. Her face was concentrated but her eyes were alight, drinking up the book in front of her with a passion. But Amelia could see her stress, not just in her tightly bound fists, but in her Colors. Once upon four days ago, Hermione Granger had an aura like an anvil. Then like a combusted anvil. Now, she had one more like a slightly crazed bazooka. It was amazing to see such a careful, carved analytical _grayness_ become the sizzling core she saw now. Her lines were still the same, shaped like graphing paper and severity, but the form of her magic had changed. It was balled up tightly in the center of her chest and _pulsing_. Truthfully, it was kind of terrifying.

Hermione Granger was stressed but, more than that, she was _angry_.

It was a testament to her genuine suitability to Slytherin that only Amelia, with her unique ability of literally _seeing_ emotions, had picked up on it.

Amelia made a move to sneak away when a wayward quill crunched under her foot and Hermione snapped to attention, her brow furrowing. When she saw it was Amelia, she visibly clenched her jaw and clearly made a colossal effort not to roll her eyes.

Amelia couldn't help it.

She was curious again.

Amelia, still 0. Curiosity, still bent on murdering Amelia in her sleep potentially.

"Why do you hate me so much?" she crept forward a few steps, pulling off her goggles so she could really talk to the strange Slytherin girl.

Hermione flicked some of her wild hair behind her shoulder. "I don't hate you. Now please go away, I'm trying to study."

But this was a curious Amelia. A curious Amelia was not deterred.

"I think that's a lie. A very good one, I don't even smell any ash, but still an untruthful statement. Now, why do you _dislike_ me?"

Hermione threw her hands in the air. " _That_. That is why I dislike you, Amelia Potter. You speak so strangely but even worse, you speak _arrogantly._ You never explain strange things you say or do and you expect everyone to just go along with you without question, despite you deigning us all inferior! Neville's toad died and you didn't even give him a semblance of explanation. You wander around Hogwarts wearing _that_ thing," she gestured to her goggles, "and you expect what? No one to look at you funny? You think you are _something else_ , not like Draco Malfoy does but in your own arrogant way. And _I_ _ **strongly**_ _ **dislike**_ _arrogance._ "

By the end of tirade, Hermione was heaving and her Colors were genuinely worrying Amelia.

Amelia blinked a few times. With most people, Amelia would say something even _more_ confusing and then disappear. But Hermione Granger was in such a state, Amelia felt compelled to converse.

"I…don't mean to come off as arrogant." Amelia took a chance and sat in the chair across from Hermione. "I'm just strange. I've always been strange. When I came to Hogwarts, I thought people might be strange like me, but I found that everyone was just as afraid of difference as in the Muggle world. I act so…confusingly…as a shield. It's easier than trying to make friends, because I am terrible at _that_."

Hermione was the one who blinked now. She looked a little surprised Amelia had said something so understandable. "I…didn't realize. Why do you feel strange?"

Amelia shrugged. "I have a condition. Its why I wear the goggles."

"Oh." She didn't pry further. This somehow warmed Amelia's heart.

"Yeah. What're you reading?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows and her snob-bossy personality was leaking back in. "I don't suppose you'd care for it. _Nature's Nobility: A Wizard Genealogy._ "

"Why would _you_ care for that?"

Hermione immediately began to shut down again. "That's none of your business."

Amelia felt a sliver of hurt. "I like books, like you do."

Hermione snorted.

"No, truly—"

"I know this spiel," the brunette rolled her eyes. "You'll act patronizing, you _had a friend like me_ , they gave you _The Chronicles of Narnia_ , you thought this is fantastic and read one book a week ever since. Blah blah blah."

Amelia felt a spark of anger now. "No, I _am_ someone like you. I love—anyway, didn't I just tell you _I don't have friends_? And has anyone told _you_ you can come off as rather arrogant for someone who hates arrogance so much?"

Hermione sniffed in indignation. "You were patronizing me."

"I was trying to talk to you."

The words came out far more vulnerably that Amelia intended.

Hermione felt it too because her cannonball of Color tempered just for a second.

"Ah…okay. I thought the book…would tell me a bit…about pureblood culture…and such…"

Amelia nodded but said no more. She knew, of all the people in the school including herself, Hermione was probably in the most awkward position of all. A muggleborn Slytherin— even Amelia knew that was bad news.

"I'm going to get a book now. Maybe two. Probably five. Would you like to share the table?"

Hermione changed. Her expression didn't, but her eyes warmed over like hot chocolate.

When she nodded briskly, Amelia grinned widely.

Maybe she had lost all faith in authority, but when one did impossible things like befriend Hermione Granger, the world was full of possibility.

* * *

Amelia was leaving the library with her rucksack feeling significantly heavier when Bob reappeared.

"Bob!" she exclaimed. "Where have you been?"

The snake slipped up her outstretched hand and arm, and settled on her shoulder. He gave her the stink eye but also gave her a small lick.

" _I wasss…busssy…"_

"Um…" What kept snakes busy? "Is this about the rats? Because its poultry or nothing at the Great Hall for you."

Bob gave her an even stinkier eye. " _No, its not about your maliciouss feeding habits…I was simply being a sssnake. Around the castle. Mysssterious and sssnakey. Me."_

Amelia looked mildly concerned. "Are you going insane? Should I take you to Hagrid?"

Bob gave her a nip for that. Amelia tried to swat at his head, but missed. " _Noo, you blasssted girl-child…I am perfectly well. Can't a sserpent have itss privacy?_ "

Amelia shrugged but let it go. She walked away from the library, ready to go to bed.

She walked through the dim-lit corridors, it was very close to curfew. Portraits were all dressed in nightclothes and she wondered how she failed to notice how beautiful Hogwarts was at night. What she wouldn't give to disappear into its hallowed halls for moonlight walks that felt like they'd never end…

Just as she turned to Bob, about to discuss her newest round of ancient idioms to try on the pesky riddling Ravenclaw statue, she heard the echoes of laughter.

It was a bit off the path Amelia was traveling towards the Tower, but just as she was making her turn, she looked to her right.

Down the hall, barely audible or visible were Gryffindor boys.

Central to their midst, Neville Longbottom.

Amelia shushed Bob and tiptoed towards them silently. As she came closer, she saw three Gryffindor boys, taller than Neville. She guessed third-years? They were standing by a window, Neville nearly falling out of it.

They had the Sword of Godric Gryffindor hung over his head.

"What a fool," one of them guffawed, shoving Neville again with one hand. "Honestly, who would give _this_ little shit the Sword of Gryffindor?"

"Too right, mate." Another was wiping a tear away from laughter. Apparently they had been at this quite a while and Neville had proved entertaining enough for him. "We'd be doing the school a service if we pushed you out of this window, you know that, don't you Longbottom? We'd be doing your _family_ a favor, seeing as you're a disgrace to wizards everywhere—"

"Godric Gryffindor must be _rolling in his grave_ knowing your pudgy arse touched his sword—" another jeered.

"You're more worthless than a Hippogriff dung—"

"—would have been better off as a Squib…you might _still be,_ its yet to be determined—"

"You are _nothing_ , Dumbledore is a barmy _faggot_ for giving anything to you."

Amelia could bear no more.

Nothing. _Nothing_ in this world. Amelia hated nothing more than _**bullies**_ **.**

Pulling out her wand and grasping the hilt, she sent a prayer to her Lord and Savior the Creator of Color cooperation. She felt a _surge_ and gritted her teeth, ready to jump out of the shadows and stab them in the _eyes_ with it if she had to, when—

_SPLASH._

Out of nowhere, three buckets had appeared and dumped their yellow contents on each smarmy tormenter. They each let out a rather embarrassing shriek.

As if that wasn't enough, the moment they stepped away from Neville, the sword of Godric Gryffindor suddenly morphed into a _giant silver and red Chihuahua._

The apparition (it had to be, right?) let out a mighty squeak and began chasing the bullies in circles, then down the hallway, clearly in the direction of the Entrance Hall where Professor McGonagall was sure to be patrolling.

Neville watch open-mouthed.

From the tall window sill where they had been hidden, two figures leapt down. "You alright, mate?"

"F-Fred?" Neville gasped. "George?!"

The two boys were lanky and orange-haired. Their magic worked in tandem, one a burst of magnificent magenta and the other brilliant green. Amelia knew immediately they must be related to Green Wiggle.

Green bowed. "At your service."

"Truly." Magenta scratched his head. "Reckon you can reimburse us for your rescue with a Chocolate Frog, Longbottom? I'm bloody starved."

Neville looked like he would give them his firstborn if they so desired. "S-sure, Fred."

Fred clapped Neville on the back. "You'll be needing this too." He handed him the Sword. "Nicked it from you during dinner. We overheard Rover and his idiot pals badmouthing you, 'teach him a lesson blah blah blah'."

George hummed in agreement. "Sorry we were late, detention with Filch is _murder_. But wasn't the look on their owl-piss covered faces worth it?"

Neville looked near tears in gratitude. He managed a, "Yeah _."_

Amelia watched as the Weasley twins pranced away with an awestruck Neville and she felt a wholehearted respect bloom in her heart. Her cheeks felt warm and someone was doing a tap dance in her chest—

Okay, maybe more than a _respect_ because look at the color of their _hair_ plus _Colors_ and the way they _walked_ and how utterly _heroic_ yet _mischievous_ yet _dashing_ …

Oh god.

Amelia paled when she realized what was happening.

Her ear felt like they were going from fall off from pure heat explosion.

Amelia did not get crushes.

Amelia did not get _two_ crushes _at once_.

Amelia was a sensible young woman, thank you very much, sensibly strange and wacky and _no no no_ why couldn't she stop thinking about the way Fred's teeth gleamed and George's grin was a little more lopsided and _was there a colony of moths in her stomach?!_

Heat rushed into her face and a mild metallic taste flooded her mouth.

_Oh GOD._

_Oh_ _ **GOD**_ _in a yellow daisy_ _ **tuxedo**_.

Bob tapped on her temple with his head. " _Iss there a reassson you have stopped moving? Have you been paralysssed? Perhaps you are dead? Comatose?"_

"No, Bob the III," she cracked, her throat like the Sahara. "It is _so much_ worse."

* * *

_In other places…_

* * *

_Earlier:_

Theodore Nott was sitting alone at the Hufflepuff table, contemplating the many ways in which he would enjoy murdering the Sorting Hat of Hogwarts.

Just as he was finishing a particularly vivid fantasy involving a machete, two locks of hair and gasoline when something slithered up his leg.

He looked down to see a blue snake, Amelia Potter's blue snake, perched on his knee.

He tried to shoo the animal away but it just sat there and stared at him with beady little black eyes, hissing at him repeatedly.

He was ready to throw the beast across the Hall at Potter's head when it slithered away.

* * *

_Still Earlier:_

Packing up in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Theo opened his book bag to see a very cozily setup snake inside of it. The snake looked bleary-eyed from its napping but jumped onto his hand and quickly settled on his head.

Theodore regretted ever being kind to this pesky beast.

When it sat on his head and began repeatedly whipping his scalp with its tail and hissing, he regretted that the beast had ever been born.

"Bloody Potter's snake…just as barmy as she is…"

He finally grasped the flailing tail and flung the creature across the classroom _._ Quirrell gave him a silent quivering look, but that was nothing new.

He rushed out of the classroom, determined to get away from the blue-skinned devil.

* * *

_A Little Earlier:_

Theodore Nott stood alone in the Hufflepuff first-year dormitory, readying himself for an early night in.

He brushed his teeth at the sink and looked at his sallow reflection, his barely visible scars, before looking away quickly.

As he leaned over to rinse his mouth, there in the sink was Potter's _bloody. **b**_ _ **lue. re**_ _ **ptile.**_

Mouth full of toothpaste, Theodore stared.

The snake stared back.

A few minutes later, a stunned Hufflepuff common room watched as a very angry, pajama clad, mouth-overflowing-with-toothpaste Theodore Nott shouted, chased and wrestled a small blue snake out of the door.

* * *

 


	5. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia Potter goes to the Astronomy Tower, the third floor corridor and the Hospital Wing (all in one day).

It was near midnight on the last day of her first week at Hogwarts and Amelia was going to be late to class.

As she hurriedly climbed the million steps up to the top of the Astronomy Tower, Amelia wished she was still in bed, like Bob was, wrapped in her warm comforters, drowning in feather pillows and gentle blue blankets. But she forced her feet to trudge up and up and up.

Amelia had even forgone her goggles in her haste to make it to Professor Sinistra's first Astronomy lesson with at least some decency.

Finally, the large empty archway to the perfectly rooftop revealed itself and Amelia slipped into class just as the Professor stood to begin the lesson.

Professor Sinistra was a beautiful young woman, the youngest of all the staff Amelia guessed. Her skin was like dark satin and her equally dark eyes glittered in the night hour. As she flashed their class a polite smile, her teeth shone like the stars themselves.

"Welcome," she pronounced in a pleasantly husky voice. "It is always a pleasure to introduce a new set of students to the galaxies above. I am Professor Sinistra and I will be your Professor of Astronomy for the next five years."

Professor Sinistra went on to delineate very clearly and succinctly what she would not put up with. Then she turned her back to the class and looked on to the night sky.

In Surrey, it was a sad but true fact that Amelia had never been allowed outside late enough to properly see the night sky.

So at eleven years old, Amelia Potter finally beheld the heavens.

She was breathless from the beauty of it.

The sky above Hogwarts was scattered with hundreds of thousands of stars. It was awash with brilliance and spilt a light over Scotland filmier but just as beautiful as the sun. Off center and half-full was the moon, shadows of its crevices and chips visible but striking in its rugged finesse.

Sinistra sighed and turned back around with a graceful _swoosh_ of her robes. The class was entranced, necks craned and mouths open.

"Please take a seat at one of the telescopes now, children. Choose wisely as this will be your seat for the rest of the semester."

Amelia looked around and was surprised to see a mixture of blue and green rimmed robes instead of the typical yellow. That meant…

Amelia slipped quietly down next to Hermione and gave her a smile that was returned with a slight nod. She slipped into her seat.

And then Amelia became lost.

Professor Sinistra had a quiet, unassuming magic: a soft white glow, the sharp scent of magnesium. But in the name of perfect Mauve Circles, did she know how to talk about stars.

The class required no wands, no potions, no actions other than listening and seeing. Sinistra explained that Astronomy was one of the smaller branches of magic because people presumed so little of it. Astronomy was the study of the stars themselves, the galaxies abroad, "And such largess, magnitude beyond magnitude…" Her eyes twinkled a little mischievously. "Wizardkind can sometimes have a hard time comprehending the uncomprehendable, the abstract reality _,_ just because it does not touch them physically."

Several Slytherins shifted curious, perturbed it seemed by the knowledge that one of their teachers was a dreaded Muggleborn.

Sinistra went on for the hour and a half with Amelia and a few other students in the palm of her hand as the described the very basic planets, what a constellation was, the false distinction between the sun and stars, the concept of universes.

After so much wand waving and blustering over strange magical rules hither and nither, Amelia felt calm and comfortable in Astronomy. It felt _familiar_ , like her small cove in the primary school library at recess, Miss Jenna the Nice Librarian's smile when she came in, and the stack of books on space and the sky and the sun that were hers alone.

Professor Sinistra began to wind down the lesson and Amelia's neck ached from looking up so much. She was also a) 99% sure that she was mildly in love with Professor Sinistra and b) be marrying Professor Sinistra, definitely and absolutely, by the end of first year. Amelia briefly entertained the notion to herself if. Who knows, maybe they could get married in space. Floating in the middle of the Ursula Major. Her beautiful teeth shining and Amelia probably fainting because it would be the best day of her life, access to all that beauteous ** _SPACE SMARTS_** —

Amelia shook herself out of her reverie when Hermione poked her because everyone else had left for their dormitories. Amelia turned to tell Hermione to go ahead, Amelia would be buttering up Sinistra as much as possible. But then, behind Hermione's shoulder, Amelia looked out onto the Forbidden Forest.

Amelia, as soon as entering the Tower, had been too enthralled with the sky to really look anywhere but Sinistra, sky, telescope and back, or some combination thereof. Thus, when her eyes caught their first full sight of the absolutely _massive_ Forbidden Forest, Amelia felt awe rise up in her again. It extended into the horizon, miles and miles and miles of dark foliage. From the top of the Tower, it just looked like a sea of trees, but Amelia could _See_ it.

It was like…it was like looking off the edge of a cliff. A kind of nice _swoop_ in your stomach, an ache in teeth, fear a little bit but adrenaline, the addictive taste that thrill seekers knew, so much adrenaline. _Blue_ like electricity, but dark too. It tasted like dark pools of dew in deep caverns, like…a thousand and one things, wrapped up in one ocean of timber.

Amelia just gapped at it. Her heartbeat thrummed louder and louder in her ears as she stared into the Infinite _Magical_ Forest and her senses were basically mush and _her heartbeat, her **heartbeat** was beating in time with the red pulse of the Forest_— **_GOOD FREAKING ANGELS OF LIGHT_ —**

" _MISS POTTER!"_

The dreamy (or should she say starry?) Professor Sinistra yanked Amelia into her arms. Amelia (not protesting even a little bit) was a bit confused.

Hermione and Sinistra were staring at her like she was out of her conker.

"Sorry?" Amelia blinked a few times. She looked up into her beloved professor's eyes, doing to do her best adorable smoulder, but she probably ended up waggling her eyebrows too much. "What's up?"

Sinistra gave Amelia a perplexed look, then took a step back. Hermione grasped Amelia's upper arm tightly and then hissed, "You almost threw yourself off the Astronomy Tower, _that_ 's what!"

"Eh?"

Sinistra rubbed her temples briefly. "Simply staring off into the horizon, I'm assuming. Miss Granger, Miss Potter, both of you, off to bed."

* * *

The next day was more wand waving.

Amelia and Wanda were still having difficulties.

In Wanda's defense, she was at least being a good wand-friend, cursing Amelia's naysayers, et cetera. It was best not to go into too much detail about the Incident At Charms this morning where Amelia's wand may or may not have turn their professor's blue and green. Having a volatile and mildly rebellious wand at least proved to be protective, in some way. Of course there was the small hitch that Wanda still refused to bond with Amelia's magic but _whatever._

Right?

_Whatever_.

Great Grassy Greenery, Amelia should probably write a letter to Ollivander soon.

"Bob," Amelia conversed with her reptile. "Bob the III, kill. I command you, Bobeth, kill that cockroach under my bed. It's been following me around, I'm sure—"

Bob rolled over, to eye her from where he was laying on her inner elbow. " _You asssume I care, human."_

" _Bob_ ," Amelia whined. "C'mon, kill! Pew pew. Razor teeth shooting. Something? You must have some uses?"

" _I will pretend I did not hear that because I am too comfortable to properly exact my careful and cataclysmic revenge."_

"Murder! You love murder! And there is a perfectly large, juicy beetle awaiting your digestive system—"

" _Insects are for birds. I am not a bird. Are you calling me a bird?"_

"—like I expected at least some cool aspects to owning a snake, yknow? You can't poison anyone but maybe an attack perk once a month—"

" _Girl-child, where are we?"_

Amelia snapped out of her ranting and looked around.

Well. This was different.

They were in the die-a-painful-death corridor. Also known as the third floor corridor.

Also, now, known to Amelia as Super Interesting with Red Pulse and Pull corridor.

It was remarkable, how similar the experience was to her almost falling off the Astronomy Tower. The Third Floor Corridor was marked by a long hallow tunnel, a corridor truthfully it was not, at least not a Hogwarts one. It was utterly devoid of paintings, personas, windows— it was grey stone and a door. The door was large, definitely Hagrid sized (her mind flashed to their weird Gringotts detour). But more than that, there was something _singing_.

Amelia didn't know how she would describe it to a stranger.

It was _red_ and _soft_ and _sweet_ like…like…where had she tasted this Color? She had. She knew she had. But digression aside, whatever was behind the door had such powerful _enchanté_ , Amelia found herself moved halfway down the corridor without thought.

_How could Color **sing** like that?_

Amelia felt it like syrup in her ears, not unpleasant just so…different. _Warm._ No— it felt _warmer,_ and the more she listened, the more she leaned forward.

_Aching_. God what _was this?_

Amelia felt her own eyes glaze over. Saliva pooled in her mouth.

Bob seemed to smell what Amelia could feel. He nipped her starkly, pulling her hair and trying to yank her backwards. " _Girl-child, I do not—I think we must—I cannot…"_

Her eyes could catch barely anything her. The door itself was mundane. From what she knew from her magic-catching net, there _was no magic._

_But then what was calling her?_

Amelia couldn't stop a shiver from licking down her spine.

Amelia clutched Bob's small body as tightly as she could without hurting him.

Just as she began to skitter backwards, she heard soft voices and footsteps from behind her, around the corner.

Quickly, Amelia slipped into the shadows and pressed herself tightly against the forbidden corridor's wall.

Dulcet, low tones rang out. "Talking a _stroll_ , Quirinus?"

Amelia clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from breathing too loudly.

"S-Severus." A teetering voice, quivering in response.

"Mmm. Tell me, were the Headmaster's words not enough to bay our _dear_ Defense Professor?"

"I— I don't know w-what you m-mean."

Suddenly, the rapid scuffling of footsteps. " _You do not fool me, Quirrell._ "

The noisy intake of breath. Rickety.

"Please, S-Snape, I'm simply—"

" _Shut **up.** " _The Potions Master was deadly in his whispers. "I do not care for you pathetic pantomiming. _Cease_ your attempts and your plans, Quirinus Quirrell. _Or I will end them for you._ "

"—Sev-Severus, I c-can't un-under—"

Amelia heard Snape _hiss_. " _I am watchingyou."_

And with the _whoosh_ that accompanied the flourish of robes billowing, Amelia knew Snape was gone.

She stood stiller. Because Amelia, unlike most of the Hogwarts populace, was _most definitely_ more afraid of Quirinus Quirrell than she was of Severus Snape.

Quirrell let out a soft sigh then murmured. " _Master, how shall I_ — _"_

" ** _Not here."_**

Amelia began to tremble.

Her scar, _her scar **was ripping itself open** —_

Only as Quirrell swept away, far more assuredly than he ever would in public, did Amelia feel the blood on her cheeks from where her nails had dug in too sharply.

* * *

Amelia was now sat at lunch, slowly stirring her beef stew, Bob wrapped around her wrist attempting every five minutes to snatch a bit of meat.

That corridor _would not_ leave her alone.

That delicious red energy behind that Door of Doom was stronger than anything she had ever felt before. It _ached_ as if it was a part of her. It beckoned, begged, for her.

Or maybe she for it, she wasn't too clear on the details.

But more than that, Amelia could not forget—the nail marks on her own cheeks could not let her forget—

Thoughts spinning on that horror axis, Amelia was embarrassingly unaware of two redheaded Gryffindor twins who had seated themselves on either side of her.

"Reckon she's gone off the edge, Freddie boy?" Green asked.

"Hmmm." Magenta tapped a finger on his lips. Then he snapped his fingers in front of her face and so Amelia was startled out of her deep thoughts.

Realizing she was startled by Fred and George Weasley, and not the Dark Lord Flying from Death, Amelia accidently upturned her bowl of stew on Bob's innocent ( _not really_ ) face.

Loud, muffled hissing and vague choking sounded and the rest of Bob's body flailed like a freaking lasso.

"Bob!" Amelia cried. She quickly pulled his head out from where he was drowning in the beef stew he had so desired only two minutes ago. As soon as he was out from his jail of brown and thick, he let out a roar that silenced the entire Great Hall.

Amelia hadn't known Bob could roar.

Even the Weasley twins looked slightly alarmed.

"Miss Potter," called Dumbledore from his faraway perch, his voice echoing in the quiet Hall. "Is your serpent friend well?"

Amelia, also paled, meekly nodded, hunched over to avoid everyone's stares and hurriedly used a napkin to dry off her pet.

"Must be indigestion," she heard Dumbledore suggest cheerfully.

Everyone went back to their business.

Bob was (not so) quietly hissing to himself.

" _I WILL WRECK HAVOV ON THEIR INSSSOLENT ORANGE HEADSS— I WILL SSSWALLOW THEIR FIRSST BORNSS WHILE THEY ARE **STILL IN THEIR WOMBSSS**_ — _"_

Amelia, unashamed of her mild cowardice, was kind of glad he blamed the Twins instead of her.

"Er," said Fred Magenta. "Does your pet snake always roar like a bloody basilisk?"

George Green scratched his head. "Yeah, we didn't count on you own a small blue Basilisk. If we're bothering you, mate, we'll bugger off."

" _YESSS, YOU SHOULD RUN, YOU SSSKINNY HUMAN MALLARDS—"_

Amelia gently silenced Bob by stuffing him in her rucksack. His indignant hissing increased three-fold. She'd placate him with a lot of chicken later. She turned back to the Twins, who looked impressed by her handling of the obviously ticked off reptile.

Amelia shook her head and gave them weak grins, causing her messy hair to mess further. Fred grinned back at her ( _her **heart** oh god, she should run away, run away right now)_ and ruffled her hair. "Anybody ever told you, you're a pint-sized gallon of trouble, Potter?"

Amelia was _extremely_ not okay.

Amelia was also _extremely_ not okay with the fact that she was extremely not okay.

Amelia Dorea Potter had greater things to worry about than cute 13 year-old twins.

"Now," George rubbed his hands then put them together finger tip to finger tip like Super Villain. "We have a proposition for you, Lady Potter."

Amelia couldn't really do anything but blush at this point, seriously the emotional strain was a lot, did no one take into account she was _eleven—_

So why not sign away her life to the only two other Hogwarts students who were potentially more dangerous than her?

"S-sure."

George's eyebrows rose at her stutter. "We'd like to hire your help with one Neville Longbottom."

Fred was now pilfering the Ravenclaw table for all of its treacle tarts. Amelia, who couldn't go a meal without them, was woken out her mild stupor and frowned. She smacked the popular boy's wrist smartly with her spoon and snatched back all the tarts. Fred laughed and only took one.

"Like my brother is saying," Fred said between munching. "Neville needs friends. We like you because you're weird and unashamed of it. Neville needs that in his life. We promise not to prank you, all throughout our overlapping Hogwarts career, so long as you give the lad a chance."

Amelia gapped at them. She enjoyed for a moment the stark contrast between the two tones of her life: Fred-and-George-Weasley and Vol-de-lord.

" _You promise you won't prank me_? That's your deal?"

Of course Amelia didn't mention that she wouldn't mind befriending Neville Longbottom without any incentive because she was _deeply_ curious as to when his birthday was and how he liked his eggs on Sundays…also had they seen his magic? She wanted to be around when that stuff bloomed.

George looked at her very seriously. His blue eyes were the _tiniest_ bit greener than his twin's, which was definitely something Amelia didn't notice nope, no, not at all. "Potter, we make it a point to prank _everyone_."

Fred continued. "And by _not pranking_ you, we are bestowing upon you the utmost respect."

George snatched the rest of the treacle tart from Fred's hand and said through a full mouth, "Ish ah 'onor."

Amelia felt her melty crush morph into a kind of terrifying competitive energy.

She leaned forward. Pulled down her goggles. Focused in on the twins with her hopefully petrifyingly green eyes. Fred looked at her interestedly like she was a growling kitten that had just revealed it had glow-in-the-dark teeth. George, the smart boy, shifted a little uneasily.

"How about I make friends with Neville _regardless_ and you two _try_ and prank me?"

Both twins grew identical terrible grins on their identical handsome faces.

* * *

The Weasley twins proved distracting. It had only been an hour and a half since their bet and they had already thrice attempted to prank Amelia.

However, Amelia wasn't an easy person to sneak up on. So Fred and George had ended up falling into their own pile of Dungbombs, yodeling vivaciously about why Gryffindor was better than Ravenclaw, and slipping _themselves_ an-extra-loud-snoring sleep potion.

Mainly, their issue was that all of their tricks involved _magic_ and well, Amelia could see magic a (literal) mile away. (At least she thinks she can. Hasn't tried it, truth be told.)

It was flying lessons now. Rumors about her battle with Fred and George had already spun through the Hogwarts rumor mill, and whispers were especially prominent from Mandy Brocklehurst & Co. Amelia lounged in the grass, nearby Hermione and tried her best to just ignore them and soak up the lovely September sunlight.

However, it was hard to bask in a sunbath when the voice of Voldemort haunted one's ears.

Madam Hooch entered the scene and all the first years in all the Houses stood.

Flying wasn't too complicated, Amelia didn't have much trouble summoning her broom with a strong _UP._ Hermione and Neville looked like they were struggling and Theodore honestly didn't care when his broom shot up at his lazytone.

Neville, to the malicious amusement of the other children, couldn't manage too well and ended up spraining his wrist. Madam Hooch warned the class with a strict _QUIDDITCH_ and _EXPELLED_ and swept off to the Hospital Wing.

Amelia stood next to her kind-of friend Hermione, fidgeting with her broom, thinking of how she could start a friendly conversation when—

_snick_.

"—teach her, Fred and George are going to be _so impressed_ —"

Mandy Brocklehurst's excited voice was an ugly, venomous sound.

Amelia felt the back of her googles fall apart.

She felt them fall to the floor. It was a testament to how truly emotions can muddle the deepes She couldn't help it when her eyes, unprotected, touched sight of Hogwarts.

All of it was— _blinding_ — she couldn't _see_ , it hurt too much— her _head,_ oh god, _it hurt_ —

Then gentle blackness.

* * *

Amelia woke to soothing white.

Murmurs in the air. Comfortable. Her head pulsing a bit behind her temples, but overall, no pain. Her eyes felt sticky, as if they'd been shut too long. Pulling open her eyelids, Amelia gazed into big brown eyes.

"Amelia!" Hermione Granger's voice was, unusually, emotional.

"'Lo," she croaked, her throat strangely parched and gums aching as they always are after naps. Hermione hurried handed her a glass of water. "This is typical. What happened?"

Hermione's features molded into a sniffy mix of indignation, superiority and disgust. "Mandy _Brocklehurst_ happened," Hermione spat.

Amelia had guessed so. "Doesn't her name sound like a disease?"

Even Hermione couldn't help but crack a conspiratorial grin. "Like a _malignancy_."

Amelia giggled. "Miss Granger, I do regret to inform you, you have come down with a most serious case of the _Brocklehursts._ "

Hermione giggled back, playing along. "Healer Potter, _but how? Oh woe is me, now how must I heal?"_

Amelia looked utterly deadpan as she proclaimed. "There is but a single path. _You must snort cow dung until your ears are sore!_ "

The two girls were snorting with laughter when Madam Pomfrey came over.

"Quiet, Miss Granger, or I'll have you out!" the Mediwitch scolded. "Miss Potter, you simply had a common fainting spell. What _induced_ it," she glanced at the broken goggles on Amelia's bedside table. Hermione must have picked them up. "Is it some sort of sensitivity?"

Amelia didn't know how to proceed. Aunt Petunia had avoided taking Amelia to doctors at all costs, Amelia had only ever had her school checkups, twice in her life maybe. She wasn't even such if she was vaccinated.

Amelia's residual frustrations with Dumbledore & Adult Co. seemed to have internalized some shield because Amelia just shrugged.

Pomfrey's eyes narrowed. "Your medical records are woefully lacking, Miss Potter, did you know?"

Amelia kept her face blank. "I'm a healthy girl."

Pomfrey really did not seem to like the cheek. "Did you know, Miss Potter," the Matron's tone was becoming deadlier by the second. "Children placed in the nonpaternal guardianship _without_ sufficient medical records are routinely checked upon by the British CPA?"

Her eyes glinted with an underlying ferocity. Amelia just snorted. She had come across many Poppy Pomfrey's in her schooling. She wanted this idiotic, subliminally-messaged conversation done with.

Madam Poppy Pomfrey might be thinking she was dealing with a namby-pamby maybe-abused submissive eleven-year-old but Amelia _was not_.

_Amelia was NOT weak._

**_And she was not going to fall for this again._ **

This bloody day better end soon.

Amelia changed the subject and _did not_ look at Hermione. "Can you fix my goggles?"

Pomfrey stared at Amelia for a beat, then flourished her wand into a quick _Reparo._

Amelia thanked her. Pomfrey pursed her lips. "Miss Potter, you do know that Hogwarts requires at least some degree of confirmation of student health by a _professional?_ I don't know why Albus accepted your records as they are—" Amelia flinched. "—but if they are not amended by the start of the next school year, including mention of whatever it is that causes you to wear those hideous goggles, I myself will give you the most thorough physical magical examination of the _history of this school._ Do we understand each other?"

Amelia knew she should feel threatened, angry as she was before, she knew that Poppy Pomfrey would be a disappointing and inconvenient enterprise, but she couldn't help a small surge of admiration. It was clear that the Matron took her Hippocratic vows very seriously. She would, in any other child's life, make a huge difference with her strict caring. But Amelia knew she lived a life with only two settings: Utter Nonsensical Delight and Utter Nonsensical Doom. Very little justice.

Amelia snapped on her goggles, slipped out of the bed and nudged Hermione. "Library?"

Hermione, she now saw, looked deep in contemplation. On the cusp of her expression was a lingering decided _change_ , but master of expression that Hermione was Amelia couldn't really make out much more. Even Granger's colors were oddly softened. As if someone had mixed milk in with her cement.

Amelia gave Poppy Pomfrey a peace sign. Madam Pomfrey scoffed and bustled away.

Then she asked Hermione for full details on what happened to Mandy.

"Oh you should have _seen_." Hermione's thinking face broke into a smug smirk. "Madam Hooch came back and you were passed out cold, and well she wasn't _pleased_ ," Amelia could imagine. She wondered, where was Neville and how was his wrist? Hermione read the thought off her face. "He was released just a bit earlier than you, he's fine. We've got a few hours until dinner, should see him then. Anyway, Brocklehurst pretended your glasses just fell off and when Hooch left with you, we were all dismissed. We were walking and she wouldn't shut her trap, so I told her off a bit but _then_ Fred and George Weasley came by looking for you. Brocklehurst started giggling and bragging to them about what she did to you but one of them just looked at the other and then the other said, 'Broccoli, that's not a prank, that's just you being being a git.' Then George I think, tugged on my hair and told me I wasn't too slimy for a snake, which I told him was anatomically correct in the first place. Then I came to you."

Amelia was giggling. " _Broccoli?_ "

Hermione's smirk upped a few more malicious notches. "Her _face_. It was amazing."

Amelia nodded. They had reached the library. Hermione said, mostly to herself, "I really hate bullies."

Amelia gave her a side-grin. "Me too."

They settled on to a table quietly, Amelia pulling out the two books she had finished on magical theorem. Hermione had suggested them and the girls murmured a discussion. It seemed the magical world had not yet absorbed the Enlightenment? There was little to no scientific method in _any_ of the books. It was miraculous if there was _any_ method. In terms of _what_ magic actually was, how it worked, or any relevant _foundational_ questions…well, the magical world seemed content with their marveling platitudes and cloudy blanket statements. _Energy_. _Aura. Space_. It was—

"Hollow!" Hermione finished for her. "There isn't any real _substance_ to any of their laws. It's like they don't understand _critical thinking!_ They are so deep in their _tradition_ ," Hermione spat out the word, "they can't be bothered to actually _prove_ , _analyze_ or even fundamentally understand anything they _say_!"

Amelia agreed. "I'm pretty okay with abstraction, and even I know that these textbooks are taking it too far. I wonder if we should talk to some professors? Maybe they'll know more."

Hermione nodded. "I've an appointment with McGonagall for Sunday afternoon."

Amelia placed the books back on their bookshelves. She settled next to Hermione again holding a text full of magical creatures when Hermione piped up again.

"Would…would you like to come?"

"Sorry?"

Hermione looked a little pink. "Would you like to come see McGonagall about this with me?"

Amelia smiled. Then she smiled wider. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Is that a yes?"

Amelia felt something deep, deep inside her melt. "We're friends."

"Yes."

"You and me. Friends."

Hermione smacked her with a book. Amelia just laughed because the melting was growing and glowing and warming and _this is what friendship with your peers felt like_. Going to tea together to angrily protest the current state of magical theory.

* * *

"Can I ask you a question?" Hermione said some forty minutes later.

"Sure, friend."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled pretty widely herself.

"Why _do_ you wear those goggles?"

Amelia had expected this. She rolled the concept around in her head, wondering how to explain it. With Dumbledore, there had been Hagrid and with Hagrid, there had been…well, she hadn't even really explained it to Hagrid had she? She had just vaguely told both him and Dumbledore that she saw colors in the air, oh how nice that's magic. End of conversation.

Vagueness and _oh how nice_ would not happen with Hermione Granger.

So Amelia took a deep breath and began explaining.

She talked to Hermione a bit about synesthesia, which she truthfully didn't even know that much about. Hermione, encyclopedic genius that Amelia was discovering she was, had read a paper or two about cognitive pathways, with regards to the neural properties of synesthesia. So Amelia explained her experiences in the Muggle world, with music and then her meeting with Dedalus Diggle. Then, bing bang boom, magical world is revealed, everyone looked like they have amorphous space-limbs. Flying motorbikes are found and Hogwarts castle gives her the Devil of all migraines.

"…and everyone has these Colors?" Hermione asked. "Like, every person you've ever met?"

"Only the magical species." Amelia said. "At least, that's what I'm assuming. Goblins are pretty cool. I think Muggles have a bit of Color, really subtle stuff, but witches and wizards have _Colors_ like the T-Rex to the Muggle's amoeba _._ "

"Your floaty eeriness is making more and more sense," Hermione sighed to herself.

"Sorry?" Amelia waggled her eyebrows. "Eerie? Floaty? Maybe also ethereal? Who knows if the Girl Who Lived is even humanoid after all!"

Hermione's lip twitched but she continued on. "And Dumbledore just accepted your word for all this? Just like that?"

Amelia shrugged. The thought had crossed her mind a bit. "It was accepted and moved on from. It _was_ a bit weird."

Hermione shook her head. "A bit weird? It makes absolutely no sense."

"I'm not too good at the common sense thing so," Amelia scratched her head. "Probably comes with my True Sight blah-di-blah muddling up my brain."

" _Something_ is muddling up your brain, yes," Hermione's lips twitched. "Dumbledore is a very intelligent wizard. He uses society's perceptions of him to hide what he actually thinks, says and does."

"I thought he was great until he acted like every other adult I've ever met."

Hermione looked confused. "What do you mean?"

And this was the moment Amelia saw Hermione Granger's true change. Hermione Granger was, in every definition of the word, a prodigy. However, Hermione had never really had friends her age and was the only child of sincere, nurturing, loving parents. Hermione had been educated at a primary school with teachers that relished in her advancements. Hermione had not been witness to the malignancy of grown ups, because they had been too busy coddling and praising her smarts. She had been positively conditioned to trust authority.

And at Hogwarts, that trust was crumbling.

Amelia saw why the Hat had placed her in Slytherin. Slytherin, where Hermione would never be coddled. Slytherin, where Hermione would be challenged with _people_ not books. Slytherin, where Hermione would _really_ learn to use brilliant brain and truly become a force to be reckoned with.

"Amelia? Amelia?" A hand was being waved in front of her face. "Where'd you go off to?"

Amelia beamed. "Just thinking about how you're going to take over the world one day."

Days ago, Hermione would have been offended by Amelia's blasé dismissal of explanation. Today, she just laughed. "Okay, Amelia. The adult thing?"

"You'll get it."

Hermione's eyes darkened with thought. "Does this have to do with your reaction to Madam Pom—"

Amelia abruptly walked away to shelve her returned books.

When she returned, Hermione's arms were crossed but she said nothing. Thankfully, she didn't pushed the subject. They were silent for another fifteen minutes.

"Thanks for telling me," Hermione muttered.

Amelia looked up, confused. Her goggles were pushed on to her head and her hair honestly looked like someone had electrocuted her. "Come again?"

"Thanks for sharing that with me," Hermione repeated. "Your Colors. I…I'm really glad you did. It's really very interesting and…I'm just glad you did."

Amelia's tension slid off. She rubbed her temples but tried not to show what was really bothering her. There was only so much sharing you could do in one day, after all.

"Yeah. I…It's weird. Hey, fair warning, I see Fred and George three stacks away holding some sort of glowing cauldron, so I suggest we sprint to dinner now."

"You're so bizarre."

"I am," Amelia said proudly. "You are too."

"Yeah," Hermione smiled, looking her own age for once. "I am too."

* * *

At dinner that night, as Hermione and Amelia sat together at the Ravenclaw table, whispers around them ignored and giggling at Mandy Brocklehurst's murderous expression, they didn't see Theodore Nott accidently drank from someone else's glass.

They wouldn't see the way he winced, as the water touched his tongue.

They wouldn't see Pomona Sprout gently touch his back as she walked by, knowing. _Knowing_.

They wouldn't see how he pushed off her hand, angrily and stalked out of the Great Hall.

They didn't see, but they would. It would take weeks, maybe months, but they would notice.

And when they _knew_ , Theo knew…Theo knew there would be nothing but disgust.

* * *

Neville Longbottom wandered the seventh floor corridor alone.

He had just escaped an incoming group of bulky fourth years.

The Sword of Gryffindor sat in his dorm room, but it was constantly loomed over brain.

Feeling his cheeks heat with stress and his eyes prick with tears of self-pity.

Neville had dreamed of Hogwarts for years.

The reality was crushing him.

_All I want is a friend_ , Neville thought to the walls around him. _I can deal with being responsible for a very famous sword. I can deal with being a failure at magic. I can even deal with the bullies._

_But I am so lonely, Hogwarts…I am so lonely…_

_And I don't know if I can deal with being so alone_.

Little did Neville know, Hogwarts was listening.

And bubbling from the wall, morphing out of the very wall itself, opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy—

A small figure leapt to its feet.

* * *

 


	6. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia Potter knows Hallow's Eve, aka Halloween, is complicated.

_Red._

_Red like blood._

_But,_ _**god** _ _, it was sweet._

_Sickly sweet._

_So, so sticky._

_Sing. Sing to me a little sweeter, darling, sweet bird of song, sing magic into my ear._

_Watch it bleed, watch it burst, come closer sweet girl, come closer—_

— _not here—_

_Come on, I'm so sweet aren't I, I'm so soft aren't I, come on little lamb, just a little taste—_

— _NOT HERE—_

_HOW DESIRE DOES MAKE FOOLS OF US ALL, COME ON SWEET AMELIA, JUST FOLLOW MY VOICE—_

— _ **NOT HERE**_ _—_

* * *

Amelia woke up in a cold sweat. Her gasp was sharp. Her mouth, cottoned. Her gut, hollow.

Amelia felt her blankets damp with sweat and she shivered in disgust. Pushing them far away from here and peeling off her pajamas, she shivered in the cold, naked and alone.

Amelia had been aching with nightmares since the day she had mistakenly wandered into the third floor corridor. Weeks had past, and the nightmares had started off weakly, but they were getting stronger by the day.

Even Amelia's magic was cowering, clinging and, most terrifyingly, changing in the face of her night terrors.

Amelia reached out her hand, wrapping it in Color, holding it to her shaking body. There were no tears, no sobs, just a horrifying lowness that Amelia felt like she'd never be able to climb out of.

Her Colors, molding back into their kaleidoscopic warmth, thinned out until they wrapped her entirely, head to toe, skin bathed in a gentle buzz of orange, red and yellow. She felt her skin dry, the hair sticking to her forehead dry and when she reached out to touch her sheets and pajamas. Her magic, like a river, slipped on the sheets and burned away the cold. Amelia felt a soft sucking pull from her central magical hub, and her eyes fluttered with the revival of lethargy.

A soft smile and her Colors wrapped around her like a second skin, Amelia fell asleep. Safe and protected by her Colors, as always.

* * *

Hermione Granger had spent the month of September pouring over books.

This was by no means a strange occurrences or even unpredictable.

What was different, strange and above all _wonderful_ was that she had not been doing it alone.

Amelia Potter was her friend.

Hermione had grown to be the age of eleven knowing the likelihood of her ever finding a peer she could have a whole, healthy and equal relationship with was in the thousandth percentile.

Then again, Hermione had also until very recently dismissed all religion, mysticism and magery off hand as imaginative tomfoolery.

But, even after having McGonagall visit her and going to Diagon Alley, even then the possibility of finding a friend seemed _still_ less likely than finding a real chum.

But then Amelia Potter had come along.

September had past in the library, laughing and reading and theorizing together. The girls wasted no time in harassing McGonagall during their tea, asking every question imaginable in relation to magic, until the point where the Professor had chased them out of her office, hair falling out of her bun, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead and yelling at the giggling girls about paranormal trust issues.

Needless to say, they hadn't bothered with inquiring with any of the other professors.

Hermione had faced this kind of conundrum before, where there was too much information to be interpreted and not enough trusted interpreters. So the quest began, like it had when Hermione asked what purpose integrals really served or when she wondered exactly what the origin of language was.

The only difference was now she had Amelia.

Amelia was very interested in information and could gather herds and herds of it, being content with knowing the information on a simple and basic level. Hermione could interpret patterns like an ace.

They had a groove and it was completed by giggles near curfew about the moustaches of some of those old wizards and full out belly laughs about some of their adventures in academia prior to Hogwarts.

It was magical. More magical than anything else Hogwarts had offered her.

She wouldn't trade it for the world.

"What do you think of _Hermione and Amelia's Excellent Escapades_?"

Hermione snorted as a response.

" _Ameliermione Take Your Rules and Bust 'Em Up?_ "

Hermione held back a laugh.

" _Hermila: The Reality_?"

Hermione shook with her giggling. "That sounds like a _disease_ , Amelia!"

It was a chilly October evening, but neither girl could care less. Tucked away in the orange glow of the Hogwarts Library nook they had claimed, the raven-haired girl sighed and laid down the notebook. "I'm just saying, when you create a manifesto, I reckon we should probably name it, yknow?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "We don't have a manifesto. We have notes. A lot of notes. An extracurricular project of notes. Which, by the way, we still haven't finished compiling. Not to mention the experiments I want to conduct, I haven't even made _outlines_ yet—"

Amelia waved a hand. "Yeah, yeah, mad magical scientists blah di blah. Did you know Nicholas Flamel is six hundred years old? Anyway. Tell me, have you spoken to Neville yet?"

Hermione's face fell. Since Fred and George's request/war a month ago, Amelia had banded together with Hermione to try and befriend the sweet blond Gryffindor klutz.

So far, their efforts proved extremely imperfect. At first, they had started with offers of tutoring. Neville had accepted, tentatively.

But after an incident with the Weasley twins attempting to dump an unholy amount of pumpkin sauce on Amelia and hitting Neville instead…no amount of apologizing would prove to Neville that they had genuinely made a mistake.

So the boy pulled further and further away from everyone and the only person he ever bothered to seek out was Professor Sprout, for occasional use of the greenhouses after hours.

Hermione and Amelia were also busy and excited with their newfound pursuit of Truth, though they felt kind of guilty for it. Hermione, in wonderfully Hermione fashion, started a schedule between herself and Amelia to mark the times when they could split their free time between befriending the increasingly depressed Neville and researching in the library.

"I forgot," Hermione squeezed her eyes and bit her lip. "I'll go now. You pack up here and forget Nicholas Flamel! He is way too advanced for us. Let's stick to Merlin's Five Edicts."

Amelia pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. "Sure, no problem, I'll just learn dead druidic prose while I'm at it, seeing as that's what Merlin wrote it in and maybe two people know what it actually says. Do you think we might be chewing more than we bite off?"

"That's not the idiom and no. Now, look a decent ancient language translation spell. I'll be back in a bit."

Amelia gave a grumbled _uh huh sure_. Hermione felt a fond bubble and she _pshaw'd_ away.

Scanning the hallways as she exited the library, Hermione wondered where to look first.

Neville would definitely be as far away as possible from her own common room/dungeons as possible. Maybe the greenhouses? She quickly checked the time and determined it too late for even Neville. She had no idea where the Gryffindor's lived so she headed generally in the direction of the Entrance Hall.

As luck would have it, when she reached the Entrance Hall, Hermione glimpsed Neville climbing up the staircases, avoiding Peeves, about four stories above her.

"Neville!" she called. "Neville, down here!"  
Neville, a hunched maudlin silhouette, glanced down for a moment but kept trudging on. Hermione huffed angrily, but began sprinting up the steps to catch up.

Panting and red-faced by the time she reached him, Hermione grabbed his elbow and yanked him to a seat.

"Hullo, Hermione," Neville said dully. His eyes were rimmed with purple bruises and his rosy complexion had a gray tinge.

"Ne—Nev—ville! Couldn't you have stopped for a second?" What she wouldn't do for a bottle of water right now.

Neville handed her one. Hermione let out a happy _yeep_ and chugged it. "I was looking to speak with you," she finally said, wiping the corners of her lips with a thumb daintily. Now that she wasn't palpating at the speed of a jackalope, she was back to her formalities. "You haven't once accepted an invitation to the library with me or Amelia."

Neville just shrugged, for a moment something flickered behind his young blue eyes. "Can't."

"Can't or won't?" Hermione asked.

Neville just shrugged again. It made him look even more pathetically hunched.

"Why, Neville? Why won't you even speak to me, its not as if I have some plethora of friends outside of you or Amelia—"

"We aren't friends." Neville's tone was tired.

"Don't you want to be? Neville, I usually adjust well to friends either—"

"I know about Fred and George."

"Sorry?" Hermione kept her face as blank as possible.

"I know they meant well, but you gave it your best effort. Start of the school year, I would've been happy to…Anyway. You and Amelia can stop trying. Is that all?"

Hermione started, her eyes alight with confusion and suspicion. "Neville—"

"I'm awfully tired, Hermione. See you around."

And he picked up and disappeared up the stairway.

Hermione was left, her mind racing and reeling.

Neville was hiding something. _Neville_ , possibly the most guileless human she'd ever encountered, had a secret.

His exhaustion, his apathy, reluctance…

She felt a cold calmness click into drive and wash over her like a new skin.

She would find out. She was a _Slytherin_ , no matter what any pureblooded bigot thought.

She would reroute schedules. She would learn the Disillusionment Charm.

And she would find out what happened to Neville Longbottom to make him a tired, washed out mess of a boy.

* * *

Amelia wasn't finding much _peace_ lately.

Bob would tell her to stop lamenting fabricated concepts of emotion, Hermione would tell her to figure it out quickly because there were more important things to be done and her Colors would just bob aggressively/affectionately as they were wont to do (she still hadn't fixed that 'excess energy' issue). Hagrid would take her on a walk probably that would end in her death in the hallows of the Forbidden Forest or he'd feed her one of his god-awful rock cakes and she'd choke and die. Dumbledore—

No.

She had had many urges in the past few weeks to climb up the Golden Staircase and try and wrangle the truth out of her Headmaster but she knew it was useless. Amelia, despite all her wondrous curiosity and reading ability was still many, many Levels below Albus Dumbledore on the Wizard-Human Superpower and Adult Negotiations Scale.

But that left Amelia alone with her nightmares.

See, she hadn't told anyone when her twinges of fear and longing became jerks and jerks of horror became sweats of wrath. Amelia grew up, alone, always having to calm herself down in the dark of the Cupboard Under the Stairs. Hermione, as intelligent and collaborative as she was, was not exactly open, warm and fuzzy. Amelia would handle herself, as she always had and always would.

Breathing deeply as she climbed up the stairway to Ravenclaw Tower, three things were bothering Amelia.

One, she was horribly drawn whatever lurked behind the doors of the Third Floor Corridor.

Two, she was struggling, horribly and increasingly more, with her practical magic ability.

And three, Neville Longbottom was a worrisome, worrisome lad.

At this point, the selfish parts of Amelia knew very well that she wished she'd never agreed to Fred and George's request. That way, she would have become friends with Neville in her own way and whatever it was that was making him antisocial right now wouldn't bother her because she'd have no obligation! She'd just take a metaphorical lap. Come again next year. Give him space.

But instead she had a deep churning _bet_. _Duty._ _ **Obligation**_ **.** And, Sky Above, Neville could never know about that! That was horrible. It would make him feel horrible—even more so, that is.

And Wanda. Don't even get her started on Wanda.

Forty days of classes, three letters to Ollivanders and the best reaction she could get out of the stick was when she beat it aggressively against a desk. All her Professors looked at her, extremely disappointed and always stopped Hermione, who was annoyingly amazing at everything, to make sure to tutor Amelia. Hermione, at first confused because she didn't understand, later realized that the Professors of the castle thought Amelia Potter was _dumb_. Also, lazy. Potentially useless.

Hermione's adult-trust fell a little further that day.

What they didn't know what that Amelia Potter was _not_ stupid, nor lazy, nor magically lacking in any capacity. Her magic was there, her magic was beautiful and wonderful and fantastic, but Wanda _was not cooperating._ Amelia had tried everything! From _talking_ to _energizing_ (Hermione recommended "positive vibes" while snorting wildly) to even use her left hand! Her _left hand_! Amelia _hated_ her left hand. Not that there was anything wrong with left hands in general, but Amelia Dorea Potter, left-handed wand user? Her ring finger wasn't even the same length as her forefinger on her left hand! It was an atrocity! A crime of sensibilities! A _travesty_ —

But who would believe her? Wands chose the wizards and then they were cooperative. Stupid wandlore didn't even know that Wands were semi-sentient. Bloody wizards didn't even realize that wands had feelings and _were people too, Gordon Gremlin damnit_ — and don't even get her started on her weird Red Pull of Might and Nightmares—

God, she was going batty from the stress.

More so, that is.

(Completely, if you really wanted to know.)

This was what happened when Amelia Potter was left alone, Bob-less and Hermione-less.

And for what? To climb the steps towards that stupidly beautiful, probably cruciverbalist statue.

And underneath it all, underneath all her feelings of confusion and frustration, she just want some _sense_ of herself in this world of extreme tradition and utter regularity. But how could that be possible, when Amelia was…Amelia?

Even in a world of magic, of punning shopping alleys and giant door-guarding gargoyles, Amelia didn't fit in. Little orphan Amelia, Girl Who Lived, girl who vanquished the Dark Lord, what a load of crock.

Finally, the barreling train of thought (read, blasting rocketship of oblivion) ended.

She sighed.

Amelia looked up to see she had reached the Blue Lady. She cocked her head.

"Any chance I can just get a freebie? I'm having a fiesta of the hellscape in my brain right now."

The statue pursed her perfect lips and simply replied, "What aches in moonlight but begs in sun? What begets but was never begotten? What is the eye of the mind and the smile of the skies?"

_Could she_ _**not** _ **.**

"You're making these harder. On purpose. Definitely making these more difficult on purpose."

The statue just gave her a little-too-feral smirk.

"C'mon. Don't make this hard on both of us. I might not be great at the crucibles you present but we both know I can confuse and frustrate like no other."

Rowena just looked nonchalantly smug, looking at her nails.

"War is never done, then? That's how you want to play this, oh so wise Founder of mine House? Fine. _Fine!"_ Amelia mumbled under her breath angrily, rifling through her backpack until she finally found what she was looking for.

Giving the statue a feral grin of her own, she cleared her throat obnoxiously before she began.

" _Greek and Roman Ideology: A Complete Guide to Idioms Future Past._ Written by Merinda Lux, how nice."

A slow look of horror grew across her stone face.

"From the egg to the apple, may we all—"

_Horror fully grown but somehow still intensifying._ Maybe she should write that down in her notepad?

"—Draw but a line in the sand! Line but a—"

The statue at this point had her eyes squeezed shut and anguish was replacing horror on her visage.

"—keep me as the apple of thine eye! _Hide me_ —"

"Please stop," came a whisper.

"— _everything in moderation, including moderation—"_

"You are butchering wisdom." Could statues pass out? It looked like she was going to pass out. "You are butchering _wisdom_. _How_ are you doing this? _Why are you doing this_?"

"— _THE ONLY THING I KNOW IS THAT_ _ **I KNOW NOT**_ _—_ "

The unearthly wail of Rowena Ravenclaw was heard throughout the entirety of Hogwarts Castle.

* * *

_Wednesday October 16 1991._

_Operation Greco-Roman Ideology as Default Password: inconclusive success._

_Have rendered R. Ravenclaw's magical statue into a state of hysteria._

_Additional positive: maybe fear of my verbose wrath will allow me free access?_

_Consequence: Flitwick's gonna be mad._

* * *

It turned out Flitwick wasn't the only one who was mad.

_Everyone_ was mad.

The Ravenclaw House had deemed Amelia Person Non Grata because once the statue lost her marbles she may or may not have locked up all accessibility in or out of the Tower. So a few (read: most) of the Ravenclaws had to be flown down by broomstick from the windows. And then all of the Ravenclaws had to sleep on the rock floor of the Great Hall.

Amelia thought it could be nice, a character and group building exercise.

Penelope Clearwater thought it was a "disgusting display of mediocrity that was below any Ravenclaw". Amelia thought spiritually destroying an ancient magical statue was extraordinarily _not_ mediocre, thank you very much.

Penelope didn't like that at all.

Amelia was thereby sentenced to death by detention by a few dozen people, including but not limited to Flitwick, McGonagall, Dumbledore, Hagrid, Penelope and Fred and George (they were taking the mickey, the monsters). It would probably end up being with Quirrell because Dumbledore was a sick man.

At breakfast a few mornings later, huddled into her porridge with Mandy Brocklehurst sneering at her extra glowingly, Amelia just groaned. Groaned and groaned and tried to groan out her messes in life.

Hermione, who was sat with her very rarely at meals, was to her left in a show of friendship solidarity and to chastise her incessantly.

"You and your bloody _ventures_ ," she said, while somehow angrily pouring her cereal. "I swear to Merlin, Amelia, you could argue with the sun!"

"Thanks?"

Her eyes sparked. " _No!_ That is _not a compliment!_ Amelia, you need to focus on _fixing your wand_ and not on driving statues into madness. You need to focus on our study of _magic_ , which by the way, still hasn't made _any sense_ and _you need to focus on not causing insanity everywhere you go!"_

For a moment, everyone, even the rest of the table, was silent. Hermione was blushing and blustering and honestly looked like she could take on an army of dragons singlehandedly.

Then everyone went back to their business and Amelia said, "Uh, sure. Yeah, sure. Whatever you want. Wand. Focus. No more statues. Got it."

Hermione nodded curtly.

Just then, an owl swooped down and dropped a letter into Amelia's lap and on to a sleeping Bob's head.

" _Can a snake not get ssome ssleep around here?"_ He blinked, bleary eyed. Bob had been spending odd hours of the night disappearing.

Amelia pet his head as she picked up her mail and used a butter knife to cut it open. It was, finally, a letter from Ollivander (his last two attempts were sorely lacking as one said, "Who is this?" and the other said, "Oh, Miss Potter, hello!").

Laying the letter down on the table and nudging Hermione to read it too, it said:

_To Miss Amelia Dorea Potter,_

_I do apologize for the complications with our mail, I do hope this does not arrive too late._

_It appears to me that your wand has not bonded with your magical core, as most wands that choose their witches and wizards do._

_This is not surprising as it was the first wand my family tailored personally for a customer since 1692. Making wands is a tricky business and your business is trickier still._

_Remember, it is the wand that chooses the wizard, Miss Potter, even when the wand was made for the wizard._

_I have enclosed a guide to a few short wand exercises for you to try. Also, I would highly recommend consulting with Poppy Pomfrey about your cursed scar and your snake about the venom._

_Adieu,_

_Garrick Ollivander._

"I love it when people use my full name," Amelia sighed.

Hermione quickly slipped out the sheet with the exercises on it. It was rather interesting, meditational types more energy reviving than magic using.

"This actually looks really promising," Hermione said.

"Mmm," Amelia hummed around her bagel. "Ollivander saves the day. A month late, but still."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "What's this about Madam Pomfrey? And why would you consult your snake, is he loony?"

Amelia just snorted. "No can do. And of course he is, have you met him?"

"What?"

"Ollivander is crazy?"

"No, the other thing." Hermione furrowed her brows.

"I'm not going to go see her."

Hermione looked affronted. "But why?"

Amelia didn't feel the need to respond.

"Amelia?"

"Madam Pomfrey and Headmaster Dumbledore are perfectly busy."

"Nobody was talking about Dumbledore, Amelia."

Amelia scoffed. "Everyone is always talking about Dumbledore whenever they reference anyone in this school. It's a bloody police state isn't it? And Dumbledore is Vladimir Lenin."

Hermione just looked annoyingly concerned now. "I don't know why you're being like this."

"Being like what?"

"So aggressively reluctant. You're acting a bit—"

"I'm going to go now," Amelia stood up abruptly, Bob falling to the floor hissing. "I'll do the exercises during Charms. Its not as if I can do anything else in that class anyway. I already know the theoretical material up to third year. And stop fussing over Pomfrey. Ollivander is just being bonkers, my scar isn't cursed."

As Amelia gathered her things and rushed away, even Hermione could swear she smelt cigarettes and citrus.

* * *

Soft October wind ruffled her already-ruffled hair.

Despite the growing chill and wet ground, Amelia sat curled up to the Whomping Willow.

She hadn't gone to Charms. Or Flying Lessons. Or any other class that day.

The tree had caught her attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts, where she sat as far away from the front (and the teacher) as possible. Staring out the window, completely ignoring Quirrell and staying utterly still so he wouldn't pick on her for question, the giant magical mangler standing there, beastly and beautiful. Amelia had never felt such sentience in botany, ever.

A few afternoons later, she stood a solid ten feet away from its whomp range. A few reaches of her Colors, a tickle here and a caress there and she and the Willow were best buds. Amelia would sit curled into a particularly comfy hollow at its base and scratch some of its itchy spots. The tree would entertain her by swatting many sparrows out of the sky, until Amelia explained that she found that rather unsavory.

The truth was Amelia was not enjoying Hogwarts as much as she hoped she would.

Not with the stress of falling so severely behind in actually performing any magic.

Not with the stress of these horrid nightmares.

And not with the stress of not being able to make a friend outside of the library. Hermione was wonderful and all, but they didn't really do much except read together and even book lovers like themselves knew they was supposed to be more to friendship than research and sometimes sitting together in class or at dinner.

Everyone in Ravenclaw hated her, or at least was inconvenienced by her, and even Neville Longbottom didn't want to be her friend.

" _I can ssmell your misery from the cassstle. Didn't your egg-mother teach you that sself-pity is pathetic?"_

Bob. Always a breath of sunshine.

Amelia turned towards the voice and saw the blue snake slithering towards her. In the past two months, Bob had grown quite an amount. He was now just a little smaller than arm's length and thicker too. Amelia smiled when she saw him and stroked the Willow gently in warning so it wouldn't turn him into a blue pancake.

"A little self-pity is good for the soul," muttered Amelia as she cuddled up to the warm tree again.

Bob snorted. " _Like Coca Cola is good for the digestive track, yess."_

Amelia frowned. "You know what Coke is?"

" _There was a horrible incident when I was a hatchling with a bottle of that poison, a burnt shoe and a brat human named Sal. Do not inquire."_

Amelia giggled but didn't ask. She gathered Bob to her chest and gave him an indulgent petting.

Bob preened happily but tried to look smug. " _You are learning. My training appears to be working."_

Amelia swatted his head. Bob tried to bit her but he hadn't grown any fangs yet so it was just gummy saliva.

"Amelia, is tha' you?"

Hagrid's booming voice echoed a little across the grounds. He stood on the pathway to the Forest, some thirty feet from Amelia. "What're ye doing here, instead o' class?"  
Amelia didn't even have the energy to make up something. "Wallowing."

Hagrid gestured for her to come to him. She gestured for him to come to her. He jabbed his thumb at the Whomping Willow. _Ah, right_.

She slung Bob over her shoulder and trudged over. Next to Hagrid, she remembered just how tiny she really was.

"Lass, what're ye doing skivving lessons? I thought there'd be a few years 'til ye started doin' that! Must be those Weasley twins you hang around— little demons, they are."

Amelia shook her head. "I just…couldn't. And I like the Willow. And no one would look for me there."

Hagrid patted her head affectionately. "Yer right they wouldn't. Only ye could tame that beast of a tree."

"It's itchy. I scratch it," she shrugged.

He laughed. "C'mon then, have some tea with me. And I won't tell yer Professors."

Amelia nodded and they began walking down to Hagrid's Hut together in a companionable silence. Amelia glanced at the brown thing slung over his giant shoulder.

"What's that?"

Hagrid grimaced. "Just food fer a pest in the castle."

"Third Floor pest?"

Hagrid waggled a finger at her. "Don't ye start."

Amelia gave a genuine half grin.

"Ye haven' come down fer tea since the beginning of the year! You and that Hermione Granger. Just like yer ol' mum, always in the library with a Slytherin!" he chortled to himself.

Amelia's eyebrows went up. "My mum was friends with a Slytherin?"

"Kindest lass I ever met, tha' Lily Evans. Muggleborn herself, as ye know, but ne'er said a word against a pureblood even though they had plenty o' words to say to her," he scoffed darkly. "I can' quite who it was though, so could be a half-blood."

Amelia hummed, jumping from rock to rock as they made their way down the mossy hill. "Or a Muggleborn?"

Hagrid shook his head. "Nah. Yer mate Granger is the first Muggleborn ever sorted in to Slytherin. To tell ye the truth, gives me a bit of the willies to wonder wha' that girl is capable of."

Amelia frowned at Hagrid's uncharacteristic prejudice, stopping on one of her rocks. "Hermione is nice."

Hagrid had the heart to at least look a little shamefaced. "I don' doubt it. But Slytherin is a scary house fer a lot of folk, Amelia. It's unusual." They had reached his door and Hagrid held it open as he said, "And if yer to know anything about wizards, Amelia Potter, it's this: they don' like the unusual, same as any other folk."

Amelia snorted. "Kind of ironic, considering they're _wizards_."

Hagrid agreed. "It is. Bloody barmy, pardon my French, but I've yet ter meet a man or woman who isn'."

Amelia pat Fang on the head. Bob hissed viciously, as didn't like this close proximity to the huge but docile dog. He didn't like any animal other than himself.

Hagrid laid down the huge brown skin over the hearth and went about setting the tea. He glanced over his shoulder at Bob, as he hissed, saying, "Getting big, isn't he?"

Amelia shrugged. "His brain is still the same size."

Hagrid laughed and reached out a hand to gently pet Bob's nose. Meanwhile Amelia got a sharp tail-swat across the nose.

"Ye haven' told anyone about yer…ye know…"

"Snake speak?"

He nodded. Amelia shook her head. "No, not even Hermione."

"Good, good…better tha' way."

Hagrid brought the tea kettle to the table and Amelia wondered what a picture they made, tiny girl and Giant Man squeezed into the small hut with a gentle black hound and a sarcastic blue snake.

Hagrid took a gulp of his tea. "Now. Tell me what's been bothering ya."

Amelia took a dainty sip and pretended to nibble at a rock cake Hagrid had set out. She took a deep breath, looking around the small dark wood room Hagrid called his home and let candlelight warm her cold cheeks. Then pulled off her goggles and opened her eyes to look at Hagrid.

His Colors, as normal, were simmering at a low burn, still dark green and burgundy. His face held utmost concern and warmth.

Why _shouldn't_ Amelia confide in him?

"I…well…I'm…"

Because she _couldn't._

"Is it anyone from school bothering ya? Because I'll have a word with them, I know I'm only groundskeeper but—"

Amelia felt herself choke up and melt at the same time. "No, no…nothing like that," though Mandy Brocklehurst deserved a scare, "I'm just…there's just…"

Hagrid waited patiently.

It was as if the words were lodged in her throat. Amelia, who had shared her deepest secret with the kind man on their very first meeting, who had been shown an entire world by Hagrid, had somehow developed a glitch so intense she couldn't even speak of her own volition.

"I don't think I can talk about it," she finally settled on.

Hagrid looked even more concerned. "Amelia—"

"Why do you love Dumbledore so much?"

The question burst out of her.

Hagrid looked startled. "Professor Dumbledore? Well…he's always been kind te me. I was a right menace as a child but he ne'er let me feel strange or ashamed. Gave me this job too when no one else would take me."

Amelia nodded, mulling over this. Dumbledore did seem kind, despite his deep-set superiority and façades. "What else?"

Hagrid furrowed his brow. "Why're ye askin', lass? I thought ye'd get along swimmingly with Dumbledore—"

Amelia resented that. She never wanted to ever be anything like Dumbledore.

"—tell me what's really botherin' ye now."

Amelia sighed deeply and looked up at Hagrid. Their eyes met and Hagrid couldn't help a small shudder at the eerie green. Amelia couldn't help notice that and have a small bit of her heart break.

"I'm just feeling a bit overwhelmed," she finally came up with. It wasn't a total lie. "Just two months ago, Hagrid…I was someone completely different…then a whole world came out and I have this strange ability even within my already strange abilities and it's just…"  
Hagrid patted her hand. He seemed to believe her platitudes. "Like me, Amelia, yer a strange one. A different one. But tha' doesn't mean for one second that ye don't belong at Hogwarts. And don' let anyone tell ye any different. Like I told ye, wizards hate difference even more than Muggles. They ne'er had to adapt, ne'er had to change their ways. So when someone like you comes along, a genius in yer own right, they do their best to change ye."

A small smile, worth thousands, warmed Hagrid's ruddy face. "But yer a gem, Amelia Potter, exactly as ye are. I know ye've got enough potential in ya to make yer own mark, not because of yer scar, not because of You-Know-Who, but because yer so smart and ye see so much. Whatever doubts yer havin', whatever problems yer facin', ye've got a brain like a treasure chest. There are gon' be people who see that and love ye fer it, just like I do. And ye'll need nothin' more."

Hagrid's speech ended with his hand, some three times the size of her own, clasping hers tightly and Amelia felt relief, surprise and warmth course through her like a sunrise. Despite not sharing, despite not knowing, Hagrid had said exactly what she needed to hear.

She felt her eyes sting and tears threaten to leak but Hagrid just gave her another smile infused with his deep burgundy magic and pretended not to notice.

And Hagrid was right.

Amelia knew then that she would figure out her wand and the dreams and the Dumbledore.

As long as she had people who smiled at her like Hagrid did, she'd truly need nothing more.

* * *

Halloween edged closer and closer and Amelia and Hermione began taking breaks from their library expeditions and doing things like wandering the castle and actually discussing the things they had been reading.

Hermione's eidetic memory was a goldmine for these conversation and Amelia felt smarter just being around the Slytherin girl.

"So…what do you think magic is?" she asked one day before Halloween, before either girl had the go to class, lounging near a window on the fifth floor. They were laid down, side to side but opposite, heads next to each other and feet apart. Books and book bags were strewn around them.

"You mean, just my subjective opinion and stuff?"

Hermione nodded. This was unusual because Hermione did not really like subjective things.

"I think Magic is whatever everything else is," Amelia said simply. "The books we've read all talk about _magical vicissitude._ And newer theories discuss stuff like _magi-quantum fields_. And thousands of other theories, but eventually all of them, including mine, run into the Ultimate Block of the Universe. Our own humanity. I look at you and I see your magic just as clearly as I see your skin. Maybe I can't touch it, like I can poke your arm, but it can touch me, can't it? There are a lot of levels of touch too, and I mean touch in a really metaphorical sense, so why invalidate one for another? Besides we're only humans. We can't perceive _everything_ despite how much we want to. Dogs can hear sounds we can't. Fish can see color we can't. Magic is…whatever is in between us. I don't know. Does that make any sense?"

Hermione turned her face towards Amelia and smiled a small smile full of intelligence, humor and heartfelt respect. "Not really, but you've taught me that that doesn't make something any less true."

Amelia smiled back. "Really? _I_ taught _you_ something?"

Hermione flicked her wrist but kept smiling. "I used to think everything made sense. I would have never let you saying anything you just said now, I would have pushed it away as wishy-washy, prosaicism nonsense. Everything could be pulled apart, put back together and categorized. Fact. Empiricism. But since coming Hogwarts…I don't know. I had to face my greatest scientific fear the moment McGonagall walked into my house. That there will be some thing that just _are_ and I won't be able to explain them away."

"That's pretty brave."

"Is it? I thought Slytherins weren't supposed to be brave.

Amelia rolled her eyes. "I'm eleven years old and even I can tell you that the House system here at Hoggytwartin is a mess of typecasting."

Hermione laughed. "Yes, I guess so. I think the Hat is pretty smart though. I think it places in the House that will bring out our best potential."

Amelia nodded and checked her watch. "We should get going. I have Potions, you?"

"Defense."

"Alright, I'll see you at dinner and we'll see if we can steal the Hat from those Golden Gargoyle of Doom and—"

Hermione suddenly hugged Amelia.

Amelia was confused but hesitantly hugged back. Hermione wasn't really one for physical affection…ever.

"Er…"

Hermione just gave her a shy grin and shrugged. "You're still whacky but you're my friend."

Amelia grinned back and said, "Your magic still looked like the Graphing Paper Anvil of Vengeance but yeah I guess I like you."

Hermione laughed. Amelia felt like someone had cooked warm soup in her belly.

Glancing at her watch again, she quickly said goodbye and ran off to Potions. Nothing killed a happy-friend mood like a grumpy Professor Vampire.

She arrived in Potions, just as Snape stood up. He gave her a dirty look, but remarkably said nothing. Could be because, despite near failing her every other class, Amelia was doing decently well in Potions.

Sitting next to Nott, she settled into their established routine. Nott said nothing to her, she talked sometimes, and they made potions like a well functioned machine. The only weird thing was whenever Bob was with Amelia during a Potions lessons, Nott would stand as far away from her as possible and adopt an underlying expression of anger and horror.

That day's class was on practicing the imbuing of spells into Potions. They were working on a basic neutral broth and were supposed to entrance a simple _Engorgio_ into the liquid.

Suffice to say, Amelia was not pleased by this development.

Nott took over the spell work though, which Amelia was glad for.

But then Snape came to hover over them like a bat and demanded, "Potter, do the spell this time."

They were supposed to brew three batches and Nott had done the spell both times.

Amelia gulped. "Y-yes, sir."

Snape watched her impassively as she prepared herself with the wand movement and Nott spruced up a cauldron of the foundation. Amelia felt a faint sweat break out on the back of her neck. She glanced up at her Professor, the only one who didn't look at her all sad and disappointed (which, according to Fred and George, was blasphemy). She met his eyes for a moment, and saw that same flash of emotion in his Colors as she always did, a faint weakening before they went back to their barb-y selves.

Nott finished up and gestured Amelia forward. Amelia took a deep breath.

She flicked her wand in a straight upwards motion. " _Engorgio."_

_Please Wanda. Please Wanda. Please Wanda._

Wanda, all twelve inches of her in her purple-y glory, vaguely burped out a spluttering version of the spell on to the clear gray liquid.

Snape's lip curled.

Amelia squeezed her eyes shut.

But...Snape said nothing.

He just emptied the cauldron, told them to start over and _walked away_.

Even Nott looked flabbergasted. Amelia took this as a sign of grace and just whipped up the potion base before Snape could see and furiously whispered to Nott, "Do the spell!"

He did. And they had three perfect brews.

And _Severus Snape_ had been lenient with them.

A Potter. And a non-Slytherin Nott.

Class finished after that and Nott gave her his typical nod goodbye before turning to put their brews on the front desk.

At that exact moment, Neville Longbottom hurried into the classroom.

The path to the front desk and the path into the classroom had one very special cross section.

It was at that very spot that Neville crashed into Nott.

All three bottles went flying.

Snape looked up and his emotions of revulsion were so immediate and strong, his Colors even curled up.

"Longbottom." His tone was flat. "Tell me you did not lumber into this classroom and ruin all of Mr. Nott's work."

"P-professor—"

"Of course. Accidents of buffoonery. Ten points from Gryffindor now go sit down for your Remedial tutoring."

Snape's dark face turned to Nott and Amelia. "I will have to give you a zero. Your marks are acceptable enough that this will not be too detrimental."

"Yes, sir," they both chimed.

Theodore looked murderous. Amelia tried edging towards Neville to talk to him, but Theodore got there first.

"—pathetic excuse for a pureblood wizard and even a stain on _Gryffindor_ ," Nott's voice and magic was thrumming with an extreme and (in Amelia's opinion) excessive anger. Moreso, it was _sapping from Neville's aura_.

Amelia watched, dumbfounded.

_His magic was sucking on Neville's magic like a leech._

It made it official.

Theodore Nott and his Dark Glow were an enigma and Amelia had to unravel them.

Neville's weak frame hunched lower as Nott stormed away dramatically, his Colors leaving an acidic trail behind him.

"Neville, it's okay—"

"Save it, Amelia." Neville looked so pained in this moment, so on the verge of breaking down, Amelia's Colors reached out with her hand to try and touch the fragile boy.

But he flinched away.

Snape called from the front of the room. "Potter, unless you are planning on joining the likes of Longbottom, get out of my classroom."

Amelia felt stuck. She genuinely felt if she left Neville now, he would fall apart, too far away for her to ever touch.

Snape made her decision for her. He snapped his wand and the dungeon door banged open, jolting her out of her emotions.

Gathering her things, leaving Neville behind, Amelia felt every step away push her further and further away from ever being Neville Longbottom's friend.

* * *

The Halloween Feast was decadent.

Amelia couldn't care less.

Not only was this the anniversary of her parents' murder, but Amelia herself was suffering from a too-deep depression for someone who had just discovered a magical world.

Neville had gone missing. No one had seen him since his encounter with Amelia and Nott in the dungeons.

Nott tried his best to hide it, but it had severely unnerved him too. His Colors had gone from a Dark Glow to a Dark Frenzy. It was achingly obvious that he was worried every mealtime when he craned his neck look from table to table, hoping to see Neville's blonde head.

So, despite the thousands of candles, the spooky décor, the dancing skeletons and pumpkin paraphernalia, Amelia wished she could curl up in a tent alone, maybe in the isolated plains of Iceland, somewhere no one would talk to her to wish her _Happy Hallow's Eve_ or even the very respectful (read: intrusive) _My condolences for you_.

Apparently it was also technically Amelia Potter Day. At least, according to an Official Ministry Calendar as Fred and George had used in their latest prank attempt. Which was truly and honestly the last thing Amelia ever wanted, expected or needed. To be celebrated on the day her family was viciously torn to shreds.

Wizards. Not the most sensitive bunch.

Amelia was sitting at the Slytherin table with Bob wrapped around her skull, feeding him bits of chicken parmesan because it was a holiday and he had been good lately. Everyone around her was dressed up and cheery while she wore an all black cape and looked vaguely like the Grim Reaper. It was a Dark Holiday full of Darkness after all, or didn't this Scottish school know Samhain signified the being of the darker half of the year? She sipped slowly on a goblet of pumpkin and cherry juice. Hermione sat next to her, aware of Amelia's maudlin but not questioning it (the angel, who was actually dressed up like one too). She just occasionally spouted out some Halloween fact.

"Did you know that Samhain, later known as Halloween, was a Gaelic festival originally? The Founders were around when it began being celebrated and that's why Hogwarts celebrates it."

Amelia hummed noncommittally, chewing on some dreadful candy gum.

"Technically, Hogwarts doesn't even recognize Christmas, simply the winter solstice and Jesus wasn't even born in winter so its all really a societal conundrum—"

Suddenly, the doors of the Great Hall banged open and silence overtook the hall as _Quirrell_ stood there, decked out in plum, and said with his high pitched stutter:

"Troll! In the dungeon. Thought you ought to know."

And then passed out.

It was the worst performance Amelia had seen since watching Dudley's school play.

The entire Hogwarts population felt differently because they all jumped up and started screaming.

Only Dumbledore, herself and Severus Snape remained calm.

" _SILENCE!"_

The Headmaster rose. "Prefects, escort your Houses to your dormitories. Head Girl, Head Boy, staff: with me. Go!"

All said and done, in times of crisis, Dumbleydore sure knew how to strike an authoritative figure.

Hermione rose to join the Slytherins when a _horrifying_ thought struck Amelia. She quickly dropped Bob to the ground to allow him to slither away.

She then grabbed her only friend's elbow tightly and gasped, " _Neville._ "

Hermione's eyes met hers and tension passed between them. Going against orders? Defying the Headmaster himself? For a boy no one had seen in days?

It was the moment to separate old Hermione from new Hermione.

A beat.

Then she nodded.

Amelia felt a breath of relief come out of her.

Across the tables, just in that moment, she caught someone else's eye.

Theodore Nott.

His face said it all, even as his magic seemed to set him on fire.

He nodded and Amelia exhaled and Hermione moved.

It was like they were one person.

One moment three first years existed in the calamity of the Great Hall, and the next they stood, hidden out of sight in a nook on the second floor.

"Where could he be?"

"This is all my fault—"

"We need a _plan._ "

They all fell silent.

Hermione turned to Amelia. "Do you think you could find him?"

Amelia was flattered but confused. "How could I? I haven't seen him, same as you."

" _No,_ Amelia, I mean with your _magic!_ "

_Oh._ "I've never…I mean, I haven't…"

Theodore observed silently.

"Try now," Hermione ordered. "Without your goggles. Quickly, Amelia."

Amelia felt her heart beating a thousand miles a minutes. Adrenaline was pumping through her veins like a head rush.

Yanking down her black chunky eyewear, Amelia felt like the adrenaline was definitely addling her view right now.

It was like she could see, taste, smell and hear at the same time. As if every sense was _one_ sense and every emission as clean, clear and fast as cars down a highway.

"I…I can… _everything_ …oh god. Okay. Yes, Hermione, I know. Focus."

Sensation was blowing in. Faster and faster and faster, exponentially rising and Amelia was going to drown in it when—

"I can't understand what's happening. But we need to start moving _now._ "

Then, out of the corner of her eyes so deeply imbued into the walls of the castle, she could have missed it if her eyes were angled just three degrees left or right, was a shadow.

Molded into the candlelight, barely a flicker of a silhouette.

But Amelia caught it and Amelia latched on to it.

Something about the shadow was…it was… _gesturing to her?_

" _Amelia!_ "

It was now or never.

She surrendered to her senses until somehow there was nothing but that shadow. All other stimuli were static.

She clasped Theo and Hermione's hands.

And, she wasn't sure if it was just her biased powers of perception, but she could _swear_ their eyes saw it too.

Then they were flying through the hallways.

* * *

They arrived in an ancient unused bathroom.

There was a skylight window, hundreds of stalls and enough dust to choke a small bear. Ancient interior, high ceilings, a giant circular sink with regal faucets and green and blue trimmings. The whole thing could be four hundred, maybe five hundred years old. It looked like it hadn't been used in at least three hundred and fifty of those years.

Looking around the room, Hermione gestured for Amelia to search the west side and Theo the east.

What was that thing? _Who_ was that thing? It was so _subtle_ , almost weaved into the very fabric of the castle itself—

_Focus_. She had to focus. Find Neville and escape wandering Troll, then contemplate potential demons of guidance in the castle later.

Just as she opened her thirty-something-ith stall, Hermione's voice echoed through the toilets.

" _Neville!_ "

Theo and Amelia rushed to her side. There, sitting on a lumpy and disgusting old mattress, with a bowl on the closed toilet and his hair oily and face dusty, was Neville.

"Neville, we found you!" Amelia surged forward as if to hug him but stopped short at his expression. "C'mon, get up, we have to go."

"Go away."

"Neville, you don't understand—"

"I want you to go away."

"Longbottom, this is not a discussion—"

"Neville." Hermione barked. "There is a troll loose in this castle. You have been living in toilet stall. You are going to listen to _me_ , get upand get yourself to Professor McGonagall. _**Now.**_ "

Even Amelia felt herself twitch in the direction of McGonagall at Hermione's command.

Neville's face crumpled.

"I c-can't, I have to stay here, I can't go back there, I can't…I can't. _I can't—"_

"We do not have time for this," Theodore stated. "Granger, get out your wand. I cast the spell on his legs, you do his torso."

Hermione nodded curtly and Neville's whimpering became wailing and Amelia had to _think_ , what was _happening_ —

And then they heard it.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

There was a silent moment of total back-shivering fear.

All four children skidded into the stall and closed it.

"Neville, listen to me very, very carefully." Hermione hand was outstretched but frozen. In their small 4x5 bathroom stall huddle, Amelia could feel the sweat break out on her back. "Do not look around. Do not make a sound. And _do not_ move."

Neville Longbottom's dusty and tear-tracked face paled.

"We'll get you out of this," Theo whispered, his eyes bloodshot from stress. Amelia thought it was maybe the first time she'd heard him use a contraction. "But you have to listen. Please, Longbottom—"

The _clomp_ and _thump_ behind them became louder.

Hermione shushed the Hufflepuff violently.

The footsteps, lumbering _giant_ steps really, heaved a heavy drumbeat in their direction.

Despite their best attempt at silence, Hermione's gulp of fear was audible to all three of her partners.

Finally, they heard the entrance of the bathroom shatter.

Neville's heartbeat was a loud tattoo, manifesting in his Colors.

Theo's magic surged and even Amelia felt the slight _suck_ on her person.

Hermione was so still, her magic so statuesque, she could have been made of marble.

There were no more footsteps.

The door of their stall creaked open.

It came into view.

Twelve feet tall, skin like lumpy cement and magic that manifested in the smell of onions and old sweat, the troll's face was actually remarkably human.

It let out a low groan, dragging its club on the floor.

Neville, despite all consequences, squeaked.

The troll stopped, observing the odd, motionless quartet with its head turning in slow motions to see the small humans. Its eyes were wet, runny and black. It let out a question _gurgh?_

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Neville began sprinted in the completely wrong direction, Theo began cursing every deity he could think up and Hermione let out a truly disarming, skin-curdling scream.

Impeccably timed, Amelia finally had an idea.

The troll let out a deep roar and swung its Amelia-sized bat forward. Stalls went down like dominoes.

Amelia grabbed Neville's arm and dragged him to the other side of the room. Hermione and Theo were dodging debris and zigzagging through the fallen stalls, soaking wet because Mr. Troll had also busted a pipe.

"WHAT DO WE _DO?_ " Amelia heard Hermione yell.

The troll swung again and narrowly missed Theo, busting a hole in the wall instead.

" _I DON'T BLOODY WELL KNOW, POTTER_ _ **DO SOMETHING**_ _!"_

Amelia turned to Neville. "Stay _here_."

He nodded frantically, curling up smaller against the wall.

Amelia rushed forward, front and center and pulled out her wand.

"Okay, Wanda…okay, let's do this…we can do this…"

Hermione and Theo were still being a helpful duo and distracting the troll by weaving through the destructed bathroom like gymnasts.

"AMELIA PUT AWAY YOUR WAND RIGHT NOW, WE NEED THIS SITUATION TO BE _BETTER_ NOT _WORSE_!" Hermione voice echoed so much it sounds like there were four of her harassing Amelia.

"I've got it! I've got it!" Amelia began reviewing the movements.

" _AMELIA THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO BE DOING WAND EXERCISES—"_

Faster and faster Amelia waved her wand.

Finally, when the magic was vibrating through the greenheart conductor, Amelia yelled, " _HEY UGLY!"_

The troll stopped.

" _YEAH YOU, UGLY FACED MCUGLYISON!"_

"—Oh god, she's going to die, she's going to die and we're all going to die, oh _god—_ "

Thanks for the vote of confidence, Neville.

Amelia closed her eyes and prayed to heaven above that this would work.

She wrapped her Colors around herself and screamed, _"_ _ **ENGORGIO!**_ _"_

Theodore dropped the grey cement brick he was holding and shouted, " _What in seven fucking hells are you_ _ **doing**_ _—_ **"**

Just at that moment, the troll's bat grew. And grew. And grew until it was bigger than he was.

Hermione was on the verge of a panic attack from her corner of the toilet demolition zone. _"AMELIA YOU JUST GAVE IT A BIGGER WEAPON, OH MY GOD WE'RE GOING TO DIE BUT I'M GOING TO KILL YOU FIRST—"_

_Please work. Please work. Please work._

Then the troll, with a goopy stupid grin on its face, lifted his arm to try and swing its bat again and _fell over because it was too heavy._

" _ **YES!**_ _"_

Hermione, Theo and Neville all took a moment to stare at the momentarily felled monsters, but Amelia wasn't having it. " _WE HAVE TO KEEP GOING!_ Theodore, Hermione, _come here!"_

They sprinted and leapt like gazelles over to the Amelia and Neville corner.

"Levitation spell! Levitation spell on the bat! Both of you!" Amelia said frantically.

She stowed Wanda away because betting twice on a wild horse wasn't sensible, even for Queen Impractical Potter.

Thankfully, Hermione and Theo kicked into gear and simultaneously brandished their wands in a superior _swish-and-flick_ and cried, _"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"_

The two-tonne battering ram that had previously been the troll's bat lifted into the air and the slowly stumbling troll looked at it in joy for a moment, as if it were a long lost puppy come home.

Then Amelia screamed, _"NOW!"_ and it hit its solar plexus with a deafening _CRACK._

"Drop it on him! Drop it on him!"

This command from Sergeant Longbottom was unnecessary because the power needed to lift the monstrous thing had sapped all the energy from both Hermione and Theodore. Both fell to their knees, panting, and the Baseball Bat from Hell fell with them.

The Professors found four hysterically laughing, soaking wet first years and a paralyzed, wailing troll trapped beneath a behemoth beater's bat in an utterly demolished restroom.

Not one of them questioned that it had all been Amelia Potter's idea.


	7. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia Potter finds some silver stuff, some green stuff and some good stuff.

There was a cold draft behind her.

Amelia stood, tucked into a crevice in the ridges of the Hogwarts castle.

And the cold wind howled.

Quirrell's office was directly in front of her and she felt like she was definitely in a horror film.

She quietly continued humming a deathly tune to herself, occasionally emphasized with the stomp of her feet or an intake of breath.

She reached the door, twice her size and Amelia let go of her protective layer of nonseriousness.

She knew she was scared, right? She should be scared? She'd gotten detention (for _saving_ _another student_ , but its fine whatever) and she'd gotten it with her least favorite professor. She was to spend two hours of allotted time, this day of November 6th, 1991, from seven p.m. to nine p.m. with aforementioned least favorite professor.

Did she mentioned the demon parasite version of the Wizarding World's most-feared mass murderer was attached to said professor's head? Who had, you know, murdered her parents?

Oh no. She hadn't. Because _Dumbledore asked her not to mention it to anyone_.

Her hands began to shake as Amelia reached forward to knock on the door.

Just as she was going to let her fist fall, the door creaked open.

Horror movie.

She was living a horror movie right now and it was fine. It was fine.

Amelia knew most heroines who entered the creaky-door room died in the movies, but she convinced her toes to inch her forward.

There in the dark Scottish thunderlight, Quirinus Quirrell sat.

For such a feared figure, Amelia did think him rather unimpressive as a man. His act as a meek, stuttering Professor was convincing. He couldn't be taller than 5'7 and thin. So thin his wrists were like matchsticks and his neck was a disproportionate spindly length. Chin pointed and eyes narrow, he stared at Amelia with unassuming brown eyes.

" _M-Miss…P-P-P-Potter…"_

It was his Colors that made him terrifying, nothing else.

Colors were not everything, Amelia tried reminding herself. Colors were not everything.

Amelia slipped into the room and attempted to occupy as little space as possible.

"I've been e-expecting y-you. P-Please. T-t-take a seat."

The stuttering just was a little bit annoying. She would have pitied it, if only it were real.

Now it just made her angry for all the people who _actually_ had a stutter.

Amelia sat down as far as socially possible. Quirrell _smiled_.

Was he _toying_ with her?

Amelia wondered, if this was the Dark Lord of Analograms, why did he not kill her now, where she stood?

Quirrell shuffled around papers on his desk, his breathing loud and annoying, until he stopped and a silent moment rang through the room.

Amelia had to close her eyes not shudder. Because as annoying and unassuming and unreal as Quirrell was…what was attached to him, underlying him, was even worse.

The malignancy was aglow in the dark office. She tried not to notice it, she tried to pretend she didn't notice it, she even shut her eyes but she could never not see it.

Today, it roared behind his eyes. Yesterday it had lurked in his mouth. Amelia had never seen Colors that could move core but then again she had never really seen a man possessed by an evil spirit either.

"Professor Dumbeldore…" Quirrell said, more hissed. "H-has requested you _serve_ a l-l- _light_ er detention th-than usual. Here are s-s-some papers for you to sort f-f-for an h-hour. B- _Begin_."

Amelia took the papers, careful not to touch hands with him.

She had heard the underlying scorn. _Serve light._

She looked in the face of someone else but saw only her parents' murderer. She would never forgive Dumbledore for this. _Never._

Amelia put her head down, to do what she sometimes did to shut out the world, count to forty-five and then squeeze and release her left toes three times and her right toes four times. Just as she reached to pick up the first stack, she saw out of the corner of her eyes, in the corner of the room: phials of silver liquid. Imbued in the most terrifying, beautiful and confusing silver aura she had ever witnessed. A lush of cold down her spine. A heat behind her eyes.

Healing magic. Horrible, terrible healing magic.

She knew without having to know.

_Unicorn's blood_.

* * *

Amelia had been out of space, out of mind when she bumped into…

"Theodorus Night!"

Blinking out of her daydream like an owl, she peered at her compadre in magical education who looked a little surprised and a lot dreaded to see her. But not malicious dread, like an _oh man why did I find a talking Tarantula in my bed_ dread.

"Potter," he stated.

"Night," she restated.

"Nott?"

"I thought we were speaking English here, Night Theo."

"Er…"

They both stared at each other for a moment, Amelia in challenge, Theodore in not-challenge; then they went on, walking together to Potions.

"How goes it, Theodore?" Amelia asked.

Theo started at the unusually commonplace question, then—

"Are your nights starlit? Are your days worthwhile?"

He rolled his eyes.

"I am well, thank you." Theodore replied stiffly, some obvious societal conditioning kicking in. "And you?"

"Did you mean _et tu?_ " Amelia giggled at her own little joke.

"I thought you said English—"

Amelia waved her hand like a little octopus. "What do I ever really mean?"

Theo's Colors looked like they were advising him to run, run away, run away now and run away fast.

Amelia was charmed that he chose to stay.

"Weren't you shy? I distinctly remember you being shy. And not speaking this much. Before." Theodore added.

"Mmmm," Amelia mulled this over, nodding sagely. "Well, Night of Dark Glow, here's the thing. We've faced death together and it smelled like a sock's butt. Thereforein, we are _friends_." Theodore looked _scandalized._ Also _horrified_. Even—

Amelia was laughing.

"I wouldn't go so far as to say—"

"First its like _blink blink ha! What tin!_ And then the can is opened and _WORMS,_ worms everywhere, _and then_ suddenly all you know is worms here, worms there and worms squirming everywhere _._ That is how the saying goes right?"

Theodore just stares at her at this point.

It is a great honor to bring such honest bafflement to such a high-level megatron emotions-hider, Amelia thinks.

Theo gives up entirely on how to respond to that description of becoming Amelia's friend, shaking his head out. They continue on their way to Potions.

"So what I'm really trying to ask here—" Theo barely suppresses his groan as she begins speaking again. _Does she ever stop?_ "—is have you spoken to Neville?"

The shift is so abrupt Theo jolts to a stop.

"Neville?"

"Yeah you know small, blonde, a little…um… _curvaceous—"_

"I know _who_ Neville." The lithe boy runs a hand over his face. "I don't know _why_ Neville."

"Oh, don't we all—"

"Cut it!" Theo looks on the edge of something. "The answer is no. I have not spoken to him. Have you?"

"No, actually, I haven't even seen him around…"  
Theo racks his mind for the last time he saw Longbottom. All he can remember is the second floor bathroom and the incidents therein. He wonders if he's even seen Neville around since Halloween two weeks ago and…

"Huh."

Amelia gives him an interested look. He instantly wonders what he did wrong. "That's the least eloquent response I've ever heard you give. I enjoyed it."

Theodore rolled his eyes.

But the question remained.

Where was Neville?

* * *

"Severus."

There was something about the way Minerva McGonagall said his name, even ten years after working alongside her, that made Severus Snape jump like a guilty schoolboy.

"Minerva." He turned from where he was bent over ludicrously idiotic term papers, to face the Professor of Transfiguration who stood at his doorway. "Enter."

She gave him a curt nod and swept into the classroom with a vigor that even Severus could respect. She promptly seated herself in front of his desk, shoulders back and eyes sharp. Her posture was powerful but tense.

"What's the matter?" spilled out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Minerva replied with a tightening of her lips. She reached into her robe pocket and pulled out a slim silver dome. She placed it on his table, in front of him.

"I believed this could benefit you," she said. "And also serve as an…icebreaker…to my conversation with you."

An alicorn. One of the rarest magical materials, almost impossible to recover because it only retained its properties if the unicorn was still alive as it was removed.

"How…?"

"There is something going on in the Forbidden Forest, Severus." Minerva's eyes flashed with disquiet. "Headmaster Dumbledore has just informed me this is the _ninth_ unicorn dead since the beginning of the school year."

A silence passed over them, unintended and pure. Mourning innocent death.

"This was the first found still slightly alive, by Hagrid early this morning. She was nearly entirely drained of blood."

Severus paled significantly. He whispered, " _Cursed ye shall live, may ye never fall."_

McGonagall's eyes softened with comprehension, but she brushed it off to grip the arms of her chair tightly.

"We both know who this is."

"Conjecture aids no one, Professor Snape."

"Minerva, I am _telling_ you, he is not what he seems—"

"Enough." She held up a hand. "I am here to inform you the other Professors and I are building a coalition to stand guard around the Forest from now on. We want to ally with the centaurs and I hoped—"

"Say no more." Severus knew what he had to do. "I will help. Now, if you would excuse me."

"Of course," was said briskly. Minerva exited the office without fanfare and shut the door tightly behind her.

As Severus readied himself to face an old friend, neither McGonagall nor Snape noticed the two shadows of eavesdropping first years, a little too early to class, just outside his open door.

* * *

"Alright, Hermione." Amelia braced herself. "Hit me with it."

Hermione cracked her wrists and set herself into position, wand high above her head, poised like an almost ballerina. She moved with practiced grace, wand moving in a strong arc towards her feet before jolting up to the center of her chest. A long swish of her other arm, bringing her two hands wrapped around the base of her wand. Then she pushed her hands away from her chest, head tilting back simultaneously, like expelling the energy out of her and towards me.

Amelia had both hands wrapped around the base of her wand, held out, ready to capture Hermione's pass of energy. She could see the subtle shifts and waves of the very air around Hermione, like clear vibrations, the purest Color. She knew it was her turn to manipulate it.

The vibration touched the tip of Wanda. As Amelia made her way through as much of the reverse meditational exercises as she could, she felt an increasing imbalance. Like standing on a tightrope, walking then running then sprinting. Every movement increasing the instability.

But she pushed myself through the jitters and, much less gracefully, managed to reach the final (first) position, wand above head, back arched and face up.

She fell out in a slump, like someone had cut her strings. A sigh escaped her, moody and irritated.

"You're getting better," Hermione sounded dangerously close to chiding. "Just keep practicing."

"Yes," She rubbed her eyes. "Keep practicing. Like we have. Everyday. Three times a day. Without progress."

Hermione just raised an eyebrow very annoyingly.

"Okay, _a little_ progress." Amelia threw her hands in the air. "Its like there's…there's this…jitter? Like a shaky thing _inside_ me and I can't shake off the nerves! As if I'm walking on a tightrope twelve hundred feet in the air instead of doing some awesome cool mediational moves."

"I still think it could be a magical block." Hermione had brought up the idea a few days ago after reading _Offensiva_ by Gerard Filmus. "You know they exist, Amelia! _You_ more than anyone should know they _can_ exist because you literally see magic around you in the wildest and most impossible shapes and forms."

"I don't doubt they exist, Hermione. I just don't think I have one. I would've seen it. Noticed it! Felt it, even."

Hermione clucked her tongue. " _Hubris_. You can't know that for sure. If we just went to Professor Snape—"

"Who would undoubtedly go to Professor Flitwick, who would go to Professor Dumbeldore. No thanks."

Amelia began gathering up her things from the corners of the abandoned classroom they were in. "We should head to lunch. Don't want to be underfueled for good ole Snappers."

Hermione paled visibly at the nickname. "Never say that again."

Amelia smiled impishly. "What? Protective of your House Head? That's nice. I don't mean it maliciously. He is very snappy, that is all. Dress sense wise. Great robes, great _billowing_ —"

Hermione smacked Amelia upside the head on the way to getting her bag. "I mean it to be protective of _you_! If he ever heard you call him Snappers, you would never leave detention. Ever. You would die an old maid, still cleaning his phials."

_Phials_.

The word made Amelia twitch. She had yet to confess what she had seen in Quirrell's office to anyone, not even her Slytherin friend…or on the third floor…or what she had overheard in Snape's office…or how Theodore Nott had looked extremely confused at her extreme panic and she hadn't bothered to explain…just run away from Snape's office and class and Hogwarts in general.

But she couldn't do anything without her wand. Right now, her priority was to arm herself as best as she could. Gain skills. Skills that began and ended, apparently, with a bloody annoying wooden contraption.

It wasn't that she didn't trust Hermione. Hermione had followed her into a troll's den (okay a girl's bathroom really but you get it). It was just that…she was still accustoming herself to that trust.

Trusting herself to trust. Something like that.

Amelia shook off the heavy thoughts. Instead, she proceeded to make Hermione laugh with her story of Fred and George's latest attempt to prank her with several large, yellow rats and how they had ended up in Mandy Brocklehurst's frilly pink pants.

* * *

It was in Greenhouse Number 4 that Amelia finally tracked down Neville Longbottom. See, Neville was many things but loyal was number one on the list. And he was loyal not just to his people-friends, but also his plant-friends.

Amelia respected this immensely.

So when she found out from Professor Sprout that Neville had been raising several small batches of Magiholly as an extra project for Herbology, she knew immediately where she would find the small blonde boy.

Magiholly were a fairly common breed of fairly useless plant. They were beautiful, with dark red leaves and even darker stems, but their uses were limited to smelling good and looking nice. Oh and being kind of sentient. They actually made great pets. Strangely though, they required a very strict schedule of water every 17 hours. And the next water-call, by Amelia's calculations, was tonight at 10 pm.

So she crept through the Hogwarts castle like a cat ninja burglar, all stealth no clumze (despite what Bob might mutter under his breath about that suit of armor, it was a _stealth tactic_ okay). She reached the Greenhouse and there he stood. Eyes a little red and swaying a little to the Wizarding Wireless. One of the Magiholly was wrapped around his hand and he was gently talking to it as he watered its siblings.

Neville's magic, as Amelia had previously mentioned, was deep rooted. It was neither flashy nor obvious. But Amelia had had a feeling when she first met the chubby boy that it was something special.

She was one hundred million percent happy to say she was right. She told you so, Malfoys and other dumbos of the world.

In the soft green light of Greenhouse Four, Neville's Colors were… _rich._ They smelled like grass after a thunderstorm. They smelled like vitality. They were seeds still, Amelia noted, probably growing as he himself grew. _But great Aquamarine,_ their **_smell._** Heady, but light. Like a tempered rainforest and a palm tree and a pine tree and clean, fresh dirt.

Amelia snapped herself out of sniffing like a dog, and called out, "Neville."

He almost upturned the entire table of Magiholly.

"A-Am-Amelia! What are you— how did you find me?"

She skipped across the greenhouse to sit herself on an empty wicker table, her feet swinging happily. "Sprout."

Neville still looked confused.

"It doesn't matter," she waved him off. "Why did I have to find you to begin with Neville? I thought we were cool, you know, after I saved you from a man-eating Troll and stuff." Neville face twisted into shame and guilt stabbed at Amelia's gut. "I didn't mean—"

"No, no," he said. "Its fine. You're right. You did save me."

"I really didn't mean to imply—"

"What? That I'm weak?" Neville's tone, usually meek, was edged with something sharp now.

"Neville." Amelia leveled with him. "You _know_ I don't think that. Stop with this hazy avoidance and self-pity tactic. According to Bob, those are very bad ways to deal with your problems."

Bob, seated around her neck like a reptilian necklace, nodded in agreement. Neville looked even more upset by this. The Magiholly around his wrist rubbed itself against him affectionately, sensing her master's unease.

"I know you're not a bully, Amelia," he finally sighed. "I'm just— I'm just used to everyone being a bully. Or ignoring me. And with your deal with Fred and George—"

Something deep in Amelia's chest twisted. "That never meant anything. I just want to talk to you. See how you are."

Neville turned back to his plants and shrugged his shoulders. "I'm doing fine."

There was a tenseness to his shoulders and there was that lemon-cigarette stench of lies again.

"Try again," Amelia said softly. With Neville, she felt the need to be gentler. It didn't happen often. "And this time no lies."

Neville tensed even further.

Then, like a tidal wave, all the tension left his body and he slumped like he had given up. He turned his head over his shoulder and said, "If I told you something crazy, would you believe me?"

Amelia smiled at him widely now. "Neville, who do you think you're _talking_ to? I'm the local authority on Crazy. I am Queen Quirk. I am Supreme Super Weird."

That got a small smile out of him. He watered the last plant, then turned to her, pulling a stool over and perching on it so they were eye level.

"I've been seeing…something." Neville fidgeted with a hangnail. "Something dark. A shadow. Its been following me around."

Amelia frowned. "A shadow?"

He nodded. His voice was a little shaky. "I'm not sure— it…it doesn't _move_ like a shadow or have any light with it. But its dark and I always see it in the hallways with me. Sometimes if I wake up too early, I can see it against the window—"

Amelia could picture it clearly. A dark silhouette of a small man against the morning light.

Probably because…because she hadseen it herself.

"Neville…I…" She carded her fingers through her hair anxiously and tried to gather her explanation.

"I _know_ it sounds crazy. But I won't go to Madam Pomfrey—I won't—"

Amelia looked up at him, surprised.

And there it was.

That look.

Fierce but terrified. A little panicked. A lot stubborn.

She saw it in the mirror almost everyday.

Neville caught her empathetic gaze and something passed between them, a deep understanding. He wouldn't go to Pomfrey. She wouldn't make him.

_She understood._

Introspectively, she knew this was not a good thing probably. Her Hermione senses told her that was an unhealthy connection, but she was an Amelia, not a Hermione.

But it was a connection and it was like instant friendship glue.

So they let the moment warm them and Amelia explained to Neville about the shadow that had guided her to him during Halloween.

To say Neville was surprised was an _understatement_.

"You…you've seen it too? It showed itself to you?"

Amelia nodded. "I've had no idea what to think of it, haven't even told Hermione…"

And, like a torrent, suddenly, it was all pouring out.

The third floor, the phials in Quirrell's office, her fiasco with Dumbledore, her eavesdropping on Snape. Amelia honestly wanted to stop talking but she _couldn't_. That lock in her throat that had existed under the Whomping Willow turned into some kind of convoluted on-switch tidal wave.

Neville, a miracle of a boy, just sat and listened seriously.

By the end of her outburst, Amelia just kind of stared at him, jaw a little askew.

And Neville Longbottom began laughing.

He laughed so hard tears poured out of his eyes.

His laugh had to be infused with magic, it was so infectious. Because despite all catastrophic sharing, Amelia joined him.

By the end of it, he held his belly tight and wiped the corners of his eyes.

"And I thought I had problems!"

When Neville hugged her, still shaking with giggles, she hugged him back.

Neville Longbottom would never hide from her ever again.

* * *

She heard them after leaving Charms a little late because Flitwick was still "concerned with her performance".

_Load of redvine tallywash._ If he was so concerned, he wouldn't have consecutively failed her on their last four assignments.

Anyway, Amelia was surprised no professors had heard them yet because neither of them were making any effort to keep their voices down.

" _THINK YOU'RE A BIG SHOT, DO YA?"_

" _A BETTER SHOT THAN YOU!"_

Amelia hurried through the halls winding towards the courtyard. She bumped into Neville in her rush but just pulled him along with her. The change in him since their talk in GH4 was wonderful: no more dark eyecircles or yellowish skin tone. No more stuttering or quivering. Just Neville being the greatest Neville he can be. Obviously still shy and horrible at Potions, but again. Neville being a Neville.

"Who is that—" he began to ask.

" _LOOK AT ME. I'M HERMIONE GRANGER, SLIMY SLYTHERIN EXTRAORDINARE. LET ME SHOW YOU HOW MUCH BETTER I AM THAN YOU! YOU'RE PURE EVIL, WHY ELSE WOULD A MUGGLEBORN GET INTO SLYHTERIN?"_

"Is that…" Theodore Nott appeared to her left. Amelia shot him a smile which he returned with a nothing. A slightly charming, polite nothing though.

"Yes. Let's hurry now before Hermione murders Green Weasley into a pile of gloop."

We were running now, sprinting towards the courtyard.

There, in the center of a decent crowd, Hermione and Ronald faced off. Hermione looked deranged with her hair like a lion's mane around her. Ronald's face was the same color as a ripe plum.

" _Evil?_ _EVIL?_ " Hermione did not like that. Hermione did not like that one bit. She cackled, a little terrifyingly. _"You think the reason I was sorted into my house is because I am EVIL? HOW BLOODY **THICK CAN YOU GET?** I am a not a MURDERER! I am ASTUTE **.** I am AMBITIOUS! I am SO BLOODY BRILLIANT the Sorting Hat put me in Slytherin against the Founder's own beliefs!_

_"Because here is a NEWSFLASH for dimwit chumps like you and Malfoy— SLYTHERIN IS ABOUT MORE THAN BLOOD PURITY. It is about INTELLIGENCE and knowing how to USE IT. So, **SHOVE YOURSELF,** Ronald bloody Weasley! When I'm Minister for Magic, Queen of England **AND** KNOW EVERY BIT OF INFORMATION ON THIS EARTH, I will **COME FOR YOU** , YOU MORONIC MONKEY-FACED—"_

Amelia clasped Hermione's shoulder gently.

Around them, there was complete silence.

Then a few Slytherins started _clapping_ and _whistling_ and even a few of the other older students were cheering Hermione's speech! Hermione, despite her fierce outrage a minute ago, looked as shocked by this as Ronald did.

Amelia chose this moment to pipe in.

"Show's over, kids," she called. "Green Wiggle, go home before Hermione eats you."

Ronald, pride fallen, looked like he would rather be eaten than back down. "Yeah? You gonna stop me, Puny Potter? Your wand doesn't even like you!"

Another beat of silence.

Thankfully, Amelia was not the only one at Hermione's side. So someone else replied to that piece of idiocy.

"No, Weasley, she might not." Theodore Nott was speaking. Loudly. Clearly. To several people's hearing. "But I will."

Theodore Nott was very, very good at sounding threatening.

Orange Head still wasn't getting the point. "Yeah? You think I'm scared of a Hufflepuff? I don't care who your Daddy is, Nott, you're still just a measly little Badger!"

Oh, Ronald. Oh, Ronald Orange-Hair-Green-Wiggle-Magic Weasley. What a dumb, _dumb_ thing to say.

Several Hufflepuffs shifted angrily around us, and maybe Green Wiggle got that he had said a Dumb Thing because some of his puce became pale.

Theo's expression flickered for a second and Amelia could swear he was surprised the Hufflepuffs were _with_ him.

Neville stepped forward now too, and we flanked Hermione like soldiers. Neville said nothing but his fists were clenched.

Weasley open his mouth, probably to insult Neville, but then—

_SQUEEEEEEEEEELCH._

A sea of stinksap poured down.

Everyone in the crowd backed away quickly.

Amelia, Hermione, Neville and Theo were completely covered in the putrid green goop. But Ronald Weasley was literally _buried beneath a heap of it_.

Muffled screeching could be heard but no one moved forward to help, not even his Gryffindor cronies.

From the rafters above, Fred and George Weasley popped down.

They appraised their brother stuck beneath a gelatinous green mountain.

"Never shuts up, our little brother," Fred said casually.

"Too right. Been that way since he could talk," George added.

They turned to Amelia et crew and grinned. "Got you!"

Amelia couldn't even begin to be upset. She had been too distracted being with her friends, Neville and Hermione and Theodore. _Defending_ her friends! Being _friends_ with her friends. She even thought to keep watch for the Weasley twins.

She turned to explain this to Neville, Theo and Hermione. But— she didn't know how it happened, before she could even blink— all four of them were clutching each other, almost falling to the floor with laughter.


End file.
